


At the Crossing of the Lines

by LestatDeSade



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Cults, F/M, Gun play, Historical Inaccuracy, Human Sacrifice, Human Trafficking, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Interdimensional Travel, LGBT Themes, M/M, Multi, Murder Kink, Period-Typical Homophobia, Prostitution, Slavery, Slenderman - Freeform, dubcon, ritualized misandry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2017-12-29 03:46:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 62
Words: 131,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LestatDeSade/pseuds/LestatDeSade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ciel finds a hidden room containing his father's secret journals, hoping to find more information on the deaths of his parents. Instead he finds nothing more than the scandalous memoirs of a dandy detective, and a myriad of disturbing things that can never be unseen. This is a fanmade prequel to the Kuroshitsuji manga series.</p>
<p>mirror, illustrations, and character Q&A on tumblr: http://crossing-of-the-lines.tumblr.com/</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

* * *

The Phantomhive manor, like all british manors, had a series of catacombs and secret rooms hidden beneath its structure. For storage, and also for the safety of the inhabitants of the manor. Should anything disastrous happen, such as the fire which killed both of his parents (some good these passages did for that), they would be used as a shelter to house the family. They were impenetrable, dark, covered in spiders and god-doesn't-even-know-what-else. He was down there because he was bored and kind of drunk and wasn't sure what else he could do. To his mind, crawling down in these forgotten dust and centipede factories seemed like the most productive way to spend an afternoon. Ciel held up a lit oil lantern and descended down into the creepy depths that were even further below the ground than the basement.

He had never actually been down here but he remembered eavesdropping and hearing from his father about how to hide down here. This is where his father used to play hide and seek as a child, and Ciel wondered if his father wasn't just as creepy and melancholy as a child as Ciel himself. The passage way to the hidden rooms and halls was at the furthest point of the basement, behind a latch door hidden under an old dusty tapestry that they used for a rug despite it looking like it used to be way too nice to be a rug. Ciel pulled back the rug and after clearing the plume of dust that spilled into the air, he saw the heavy wooden door. He was too impatient to call Sebastian to lift the door. It was heavy and wooden and it looks like the old rusty lock used to be functional, but was smashed apart with something. Perhaps an ax. Ciel didn't want to know who or why.

The door opened with the ominous creak that one could expect of opening a door that had not been opened in quite some time. He could just feel the chill of the cool creeping up the black hole but Ciel held his lantern over it anyways. It was a staircase, not a ladder and so, he still would have to call down Sebastian. He'd be embarrassed to do so, since he was so creeped out by this anyways and only children are creeped out by their own basements. Ciel didn't want to be immature, so he continued his journey to the depths of Phantomhive's catacombs out of sheer will and defiance to everything that his brain was telling him. Being, "No. Don't go down there. Turn back, you fool. It's not like anything good is down there." Ciel continued because fuck his better judgement, and fuck looking like a wimp in front of Sebastian.

Ciel could not see farther than his lantern's light would throw, but from what he could see, it did not appears so though there was a complex maze of hallways and passages like he'd always thought there were. In fact, it was more like a single hall way lined with wooden doors. They looked old, at least two hundred years, if not older. This was a lot less fun than he thought it would be. Ciel decided he would go from side to side, opening every door and seeing the contents behind each. If he were lucky, there would other hallways and doors hidden behind these ones. The first door on the left- empty and nothing hidden, the one adjacent from that was also empty. The next few rows were just full of empty rooms. Ciel opened a fifth one down and realized that this one was not empty, but rather, he wished it were.

This room was larger than the others, the stone floor was covered with hay and against the walls, chains were put in. He could see remnants of dried blood splattered against the wall, and even noticed that someone had forgotten their whip on the floor. Ciel did not want to know what happened or who it happened to. He was starting to think that some things were better left secret, and this is why the lock was on that door. He closed the door behind him, making a mental note of the lock which was broken and how that was a sign that he should never go back there. The other rooms were the same empty rooms, with nothing particularly special or unsavory hidden in them. The last room at the end of the hall facing back was locked. This lock was old and rusty but would give way when Ciel pulled on it. Luckily, he could just shoot it open with his gun. He was sure someone upstairs heard the bang and shatter of metal.

Ciel opened the door to find yet another stone staircase carved into the ground. He stepped on the first step then pulled back quickly, noting that it set off a gate that would come down on you completely if you stepped on the lever. Now this was intriguing, indeed. Well played, ancestral Phantomhives! Ciel skipped the first two steps, and landed on the third. He carried on his trip down the flight of winding, spiraling stairs that led down further than should have been possible. Ciel laughed to himself thinking this door might lead to China. In earnest, he figured it led to worse things than the torture chamber he saw before. The joke was to keep himself calm. This was his home, his territory. He should have nothing to fear within the confines of his own domain. He will fear nothing here... no imaginary spectors or traps.

At the end of the line it seemed, was just another wooden door with barely enough space at the landing to open it. The door was locked, and having no key, Ciel took it upon himself to shoot the lock open again. It was his house, and he'll shoot open however many damn locks he pleases with in it. On the door was a metal slat for opening and closing, Ciel couldn't think of why but he probably could have just picked the lock through it if he wasn't so damned impatient. Ciel opened the door to find a room no larger than a broom closet. It was left bare with the exception of a plain wooden shelf and a few boxes. Ciel closed the door behind him, noticing that the back of the door was covered with marks that appeared as though someone tried to claw their way out of it. He could see a bit of human finger nail caught in the cracks, as well as blood smeared within the scratchings on the door. He did not understand why, and decided that this mystery was entirely unrelated to himself and should be ignored.

On the plain shelf was a row of nearly identical burgundy leather bound books. The only difference was the amount of wear and tear each of them had, some more, some would books be stored down here? The idea of discovering new secrets sent Ciel's heart beating. He was so excited to see what kind of mysteries he could unravel here. Ciel picked up the one on the far left with his free hand and set it on top of the volumes. The first page was purposefully left blank, the second page had some writing in it. On the old, weathered pages tinted sepia by decades gone by, Ciel reads a fine scrolling text written with black ink. The handwriting is familiar to him like the writing of an old friend, he immediately knew who wrote this.

"Dear journal, my name is Vincent Phantomhive and I am thirteen years old. I am always miserable and I hate being alive, and I would rather burn in the fires of hell than spend one minute near any of the people I am forced to endure on a daily basis. I live in my family's manor out in the wilderness of her queen's empire. The only people I like in this world are my butler, Tanaka and my younger sister, Frances. To everyone else, I am nothing more than an unwanted parasite. They can not wait to get rid of me..."

His father's penmanship had always been perfection. Ciel picked up the second large leather covered book on the shelf. When he opened it and carefully held his torch above it so he could read the text it read:

_"Dear journal, my name is Vincent Phantomhive and I am still thirteen years old. I am still miserable and now it is certain that I hate not only everyone else, but also myself."_

Going further down the row of identical looking books, he picked it up and read the opening cover, now understanding the pattern.

_"Dear journal, my name is Vincent Phantomhive and I am twenty four years old. I now have a son, who is just an infant and I couldn't be happier in my life."_

Yes... all of these books... were his father's journals. Ciel took the first three on the shelf and headed back upstairs. If anything information could be found about the person who killed his predecessors- it would be in the many volumes of Vincent's life. If he had made any enemies, Ciel would surely find out about it within these handwritten tomes. He didn't understand why they were locked away down here, but he knew that this was important to him and to what was left of his family.

"I heard gunshots, my lord." Sebastian said. Ciel jumped in the air and nearly dropped the lantern from the shock.

"Did I frighten you?" Sebastian suppressed a laugh at Ciel who turned around and glared at him, lantern still in hand.

"I was just exploring the catacombs beneath the house and I was not expecting company, of course you would surprise me."

"What are all these books?" Sebastian asked.

"They are Vincent Phantomhive's personal journals. I would like you to bring all of them upstairs and into my office so I may inspect each one thoroughly. I have reason to believe that this could pertain to our little revenge plot so you will handle them with your most gentle hand, do you understand, Sebastian?"

"Yes, my lord." Sebastian said. He could never understand the human idea of collecting journals. They only lived for about eighty years or so, that shouldn't be such a long span of time to remember without having to write it all down. Still, he never heard of something so trivial being hidden in such a way. Clearly, neither had Ciel or there would be no reason for him to suspect that it would have something to do with their important contractual obligations. "And bring me up some chocolate and your strongest brew of tea. I will be reading until the crack of dawn and I would like to be awake," Ciel added in before getting back to his literature.

* * *

 


	2. Throw Away The Key

_Dear journal, my name is Vincent Phantomhive and I am thirteen years old. I am always miserable and I hate being alive, and I would rather burn in the fires of hell than spend one minute near any of the people I am forced to endure on a daily basis. I live in my family's manor out in the wilderness of her queen's empire. The only people I like in this world are my butler, Tanaka and my younger sister, Frances. To everyone else, I am nothing more than an unwanted parasite. They can not wait to get rid of me..._

_Luckily, I am not alone for my sister has given me this book as well as a book of matches to keep me company in this hell. Hell, as I know of it and refer to it, is a room far beneath the basement of my father's manor where I am kept when I have been 'unruly'. Of course it is of my parents opinion that I am unruly by nature, and so, I have spent more time locked in here than I am outside of it. My only reprieve from this closet is when my fathers comes downstairs to beat me or if my presence is needed at family occasions in which they must pretend to care for me. Frances has managed to find another secret passageway down here through a dumbwaiter shaft and gives me things when father is not looking. She will be back soon to retrieve this book and keep it safe for me then redeliver it for another time when he is not looking. I really hope Frances doesn't read these. I don't want her to worry. I want her to think I can live through this, that I can tolerate it, even though I can not._

_Normally Tanaka would be assigned to such a job but only Frances's skinny frame could fit through the shafts. I will probably starve to death when she gets older, because I don't think this torment will end any time soon. Today, I have been delivered one japanese bento box made by my faithful friend and it is the only food I have seen in a week. The only good thing is that Tanaka, as a ninja by trade, knows exactly what to pack for people who don't see routine nourishment. This is not a joke, this is my life. If someone finds this and think that this was all a hoax by some privileged youth, should my withering corpse in this forgotten closet prove to you that my family name is anything but a privilege Let it be known, that when nobody is looking, the Phantomhive's lock their eldest child in a basement and torture him. I am unloveable, I am killable, I am forgettable, I am disdainable. I do not live for hope, I only live for release that I will never have. I fear that even if I will one day leave this hell, that I would have become so damaged by it that I could no longer function outside of it. Did I mention that people at parties rave over my beautiful pale skin and my long grey hair? If they only knew the truth of how I keep this perfect complexion..._

_I don't speak of it to outsiders because I know if they knew why my father locked me up, they'd see to it that I got worse. There is no hope for me. Even my own mother gave me away the second she figured out the truth, why I am so detestable. Why I am bleedable and rapeable, why I am lock-up-in-the-dark-and-leaveable. It's less about who I am, and more about who I want to be. In other words, I am a thirteen year old boy and I have realized since I was about six, that I have had just as many fantasies about running away and sleeping with handsome princes and knights as my younger sister. That is why I deserve to be hurt so badly. I do not even understand why it is wrong, but here I am, in the wrong. I still wish for a handsome prince to come take me away, but I know that should I ever get out of this torment and meet him, that he will leave the same as everyone else does. The only people who do not leave are Frances and Tanaka, because they are only humans I know with the slightest bit of humanity left in them._

* * *

Today was one of the few days in which Vincent was allowed to leave 'the room', as his father called it, but to Vincent it was just 'hell', or 'my room', since nobody else spent time in it. It was a small room with a wooden door with a slat in it, but nobody ever used the slat to deliver anything. The point of his room was to punish him for being alive, not to keep him safe, or fed, or clean. However, it was easter and as a holiday, Vincent had to be outside of 'hell', because appearances were made to be kept. If he stayed inside of it, people would become suspicious. The Earl Phantomhive had to keep up the appearance that he wasn't abusing his son behind closed doors.

"Vincent!" Frances said, when he was upstairs and his father left. He only stayed around to escort him to and from his prison. She held him tightly, and she was always happy to see him, though she frequently snuck down to him anyways.

"Welcome back from hell, young master," Tanaka said. He was a spry japanese man with short, black hair that was combed back.

He and Frances escorted Vincent and his malnourished and unwashed body upstairs where he would be bathed and dressed up to look like a proper, unabused, noble boy. It was warm but he wore long, lace trimmed sleeves and a high necked blouse with frills to cover up the bruises. His hair was long since he never had enough time out of hell to trim it, so Tanaka tied it back with a black, velvet ribbon. It now reached past his shoulders and over his face, which Vincent hated. He looked in the mirror and though he looked like a beautiful man with the face of an angel now, he knew that in less than day, he'd be back to being bruised and bloodied demon in hell. He didn't see himself as anything but that. Frances wished he would.

"Disgusting," Earl Phantomhive muttered when he walked past Vincent. Vincent assumed he was jealous since Vincent didn't inherit his ugly face and his naturally gray hair looked better on Vincent than it ever looked on his father. This would be the only words he spoke to Vincent the entire time.

The party was spent with Frances and Tanaka, Vincent only spoke to other people in greeting, welcoming them to their beautiful home. A home which Vincent didn't get to see much of, but actually thought was pretty badly decorated and also quite tacky. He hated it out here and much as he hated it in there, the only difference is that there was food and so much of it. Vincent gorged himself on cakes, and sweets, and meat, and vegetables. So fresh and he could eat as much of it as he wanted. Tanaka gave him five plates and he when cleared them, five more. God bless that man, even though Vincent was pretty sure he wasn't christian in faith. A woman approached Vincent.

"My, my, my. You are a handsome lad, aren't you?" she drolled on, her accent accentuated all the vowels in a shrill, elongated manner that made her sound more like a cat in heat than the cadence of a speaking human.

"How on earth do you stay so thin, and so pale? Goodness boy, even I'm jealous! You'll make a woman very happy one day, won't you?" she went on and on. God, he hoped she wouldn't try pawning her daughters off on him or something of that ilk. Frances snickered next to him. Oh, she knew everything and how funny it was.

"I am lucky to have a very sheltered... upbringing from my parents," Vincent said.

"Well, from your beautiful looks, I don't guess otherwise!" she said before leaving him be with his ever-shrinking mountain of food. Oh yes, starved and locked away! It's the hottest fashion trend of this season! Who knew Vincent would arise from the perpetual bog of misery as such a fashionable young man?

"Hello, Mr Phantomhive," said another person, bothering him. He was a tall man with curled black hair and he was speaking to Vincent. He was speaking to him as if he were a person with person rights and person things, which was a welcome change. Vincent tried not to get used to it.

"Please just call me Vincent, your formalities are wasted on me."

"I am Professor Agares. I have heard such glowing recommendations of your intelligence from your parents, and I am sending you an invitation to attend Weston College. Surely, you will attend in Sapphire Owl's dormitory, after all, a young boy so fluent in foreign languages and literature should only attend in a place meant for the brightest and best in England," he said and held out an envelope to Vincent. Vincent nodded gratefully and took it, as he tried to hold his expression to the appropriate.

"Thank you very much, sir," Vincent said, and Agares left. If he only he knew the 'brightest' boy in England spent his days locked away.

"Frances, what the blazes is this?" he whispered to her. Surely his parents wouldn't even speak of him in public much less tell a private school about how smart he was.

"A get out of hell free card, now take it," Frances whispered in his ear. Vincent nearly broke down crying. They did this. They didn't need to tell him that Frances and Tanaka went behind his parents back, forging signatures and sending letters. Vincent was never tutored, he wasn't that great at reading or writing. He only knew japanese because Tanaka taught it to him so they could have conversations his father wouldn't hurt him for. He nearly broke down crying then and there, and it wasn't because the scabs on his back from the whip were still healing. Oh god, if his parents knew what Frances had done, he could imagine easily what would be done to her, and poor Tanaka, he'd be murdered for trying to save him.

"Thank you," Vincent whispered. He had never been more grateful in his life. He owed them his life, and he swore than and there, he'd never let anything hurt them.

 

 

"What a fucking joke, this is," Earl Phantomhive said. Vincent was in his dark, stupid office full of books neither of them could read. Vincent, because of the years of isolation, and Earl Phantomhive because he was a stupid, inbred fuck. Vincent could probably read them all if given just a few minutes to remember what the luxury of being able to read by something other than match light.

"You know, what you stupid fucking whore, I want to see you go there. Tell me boy, you haven't read a bloody thing in years. You're illiterate. You think you can trick them into taking you? This says right here you need a high grade point average to stay in school, you can't fake that like how you fake being human! You little worthless devil. It's back to the room with you. You go to Weston in a week and you'll be back in that room before I even get home, better invite some friends this time too," he said. Vincent listened and did not chime in.

"I bet you'd know a lot about not being smart enough to get into Weston, wouldn't you?" Vincent retorted. He'd be beaten anyways, why hold the tongue? Why not insult the old goat, he was too stupid to get into Weston, anyways. It's not like Vincent suggested anything that would be far from the truth of the situation.

Tanaka had the unwanted privilege of doling out the punishments. Vincent knew Earl Phantomhive suspected him and as punishment to them both, Tanaka would be in charge of caning Vincent. This is where the Earl Phantomhive pulled up a chair and watched as Tanaka stripped Vincent down to nothing and tortured his friend. It was more fun to the Earl to watch someone else beat his son, all the pleasure of making him suffer with none of the wrist pains afterwards. He gave instructions to Tanaka. Make him bleed. Make him cry. Then there was... that. How disgusting. Vincent was grateful the blood loss made all of that nothing more than blur as he was so incoherent during the latter half of what happened before he was unceremoniously thrown into the dark room on his own.

"I apologize, young master."

"It's alright Tanaka, I know you would never mean it."

It was one week until he was out of here, and if he got kicked out of school, he just planned on sneaking out and running away and joining the circus or something like that. He really didn't care, all he knew if that if he won, he won, and if he lost, he would still win because there was no way that he'd ever return to the Phantomhive place of residence. The only way they'd get him back there would be for his own funeral service. After all, Frances and Tanaka had done their best to bail him out and it would not only be an insult to Vincent's future to land back here, but an insult to their effort as well.

 


	3. Butterflies Of Deceit

Vincent sat in the dark closet, and the shifting of metal against metal signaled to him that Frances was here to drop off his book then come back later. They said nothing to one another, as was customary, since they did not wish to be over heard. Then Frances would find the dumbwaiter shaft that led all the way down here; and place the boards that used to nail it shut back into place, then crawl up the teeny, narrow passageway using only an old rope and her immense upper body strength. Then she would find the correct exit to the dumb waiter elevator, that was in a vacant guest room nobody used and brush the dust off her dress then go back to whatever it was she was doing before under the pretenses to her parents that she detested her brother as much as they did. She whined audibly about how unfair it was that Vincent got to go to boarding school but she had to stay home alone like a lady in waiting.

Vincent found matches hidden between the pages of the leather bound book as well as an expensive ink pen he knew better than to waste the ink of. Also stacked between the pages of the book were sections that Frances had torn off her own text books containing bits of latin for him to recite. Vincent realized that he wasn't that bad at reading or writing because this entire time, Frances had been giving him an outlet in which to keep his wits about and his mind sharp. Frances, by all means, was probably a better parents to him than his real parents, for she was the only one who would care whether or not he'd do well in school. This meant that she would be all by herself with their awful bastard parents, but Vincent would be free and that was good enough. Maybe this whole private school thing would be easier than Vincent thought. Just five more days until Weston, five more days of dark, five more days of hoping not to receive a 'surprise visit' for pain from earl phantomhive.

Four more days until Weston, another night in the dark and Frances retrieved the book and slipped Vincent a small loaf of bread from Tanaka. Vincent sighed and enjoyed the tiny loaf of bread, which was basically like a bit of heaven to him in the this dark place. Three more days until Weston. He received a prompt and informal beating in his room with the bull whip. Two days until Weston and he was still bleeding from the last beating which, mark his words ,would be the last of the last beatings. One more day until Weston, and upstairs Frances was busy packing his bags while complaining to their parents about how unlucky she was and despite all this, how happy she was to see Vincent finally leave the family. She said she'd hope that he'd never come back and Vincent would have known that she meant it in a good way.

This morning Vincent was on his way to Weston. Firstly, he had to stand up as Tanaka helped him up and that took all of the effort of a battle. He walked out of the passages and thankfully it was still awhile until sunrise and his eyes wouldn't have to adjust to a sudden onslaught of bright lighting. Now he was on his way to eating a large breakfast as Tanaka bandaged up his still bleeding back so that it would not stain his white uniform shirt. He would go there by carriage with Frances to see him off because his parents just wanted his blasphemous ass out and they didn't care how he left. They just wanted him to leave and never come back to disgrace the family name.

"Goodness, this simply shall  _not_  do," the tailor said, an older woman with greying hair and kind brown eyes. At Weston, he was first seen by the tailor, who was to make sure that Vincent did not look like a slob in his uniform. Sadly, he did and it was hardly of his own choosing.

"I'm sorry," Vincent apologized. The uniform did not drape over his body so much that it hung over his pale, white arms and now that that the shirt was taken off, she could see the bones of his back, as well as the numerous scars that accompanied them.

"No, no, dear. No need for apologies. It will only take a minute to tack these in a bit," she said. Vincent sat on the chair in the room. He was grateful for the lack of questions. A small girl with curly brown hair and cute brown eyes just like her mother approached him.

"Hi, I'm Nina," she said. She must have been carried along by her mother to sit patiently.

"Well aren't you just the cutest girl in England?" Vincent asked. Seriously, she was adorable. Vincent wished that if he could have a daughter, that they'd be half this cute. Frances was cute too, but she was never the type to stare at people with doe eyes.

"Mum says I have potential," Nina said, holding up some crude drawings of frilly dresses, including a pink and black one with many, many layers of ruffled muslin. If Vincent were to have a daughter, he'd make her wear the adorable pink dress.

"That is going to be a beautiful dress one day," Vincent said.

"You think so?"

"I know so."

"Here you go, Mr. Phantomhive. If you need anything taken in or out at Weston, I'm here to help you!" she said.

"Thank you very much for your help." Vincent put on the jacket and looked at his own reflection. He still looked terrible, but now his uniform wasn't falling off of him and oh, let's face it, he looked and felt like he was near death and he only hoped that nobody else would notice it or if they'd just think he was sick. There was still one more thing he had to do, and it was a damn good thing he swiped a pair of sewing shears from the house so that he could trim his shoulder length hair a bit shorter. It was now up to his chin and Vincent could already tell that despite his awful cutting technique, he at least looked less... wretched. Alright, he still looked like he'd been through the ringer but he was hoping he didn't look like someone dredged his sorry ass from a torture chamber underneath the Phantomhive Manor.

"Stay safe, Vincent," Frances said. Tanaka was waiting in the carriage and Frances stood outside the gates of Weston. No girls allowed. In Vincent was afraid of anything, he'd be afraid that he wouldn't be able to see his sister.

"I promise I'll write," Vincent told her.

"I'll make sure to send it to the vacation house and address to Tanaka, okay?" Frances pulled him close and gave him the tightest hug to ever be given to someone's older brother. She would miss him but it would be for the best that he stay here and never see the family again, she knew it to be true.

"Welcome to Sapphire Owl, my name is Lysander Bluer, and I am the prefect of blue owl house, please enjoy your stay at the school," he said before leaving Vincent to prowl on his own devices. Vincent strolled around the library. God damn, he could get used to being in here. It was empty and quiet and oh man, he could read books by daylight. Talk about your type of luxury suites.

"Hello," he said, trying to be friendly with another student who appeared to be a first year like him. He was doing what appeared to be math homework that Vincent knew he was going to fail at.

"No speak english," the other boy said, not looking up from his homework.

"Oh please, you wouldn't make it here if you couldn't," Vincent said. You just can't hide anything from Vincent Phantomhive. He can smell deceit, perhaps not literally, but he's like a shark in the water.

"Okay, you got me. Just don't tell anyone I speak english," he said.

"Why not?" ask Vincent.

"I like messin' with them. I also like telling them that I can turn into a butterfly made of smoke and sift through the vents...some of them believe it," he said. Vincent could see that he smiling just thinking about it. So that was his game, deception? Well, consider Vincent your match!

"Well then, Mr. Butterfly, I certainly don't recall ever having a conversation with you," Vincent said.

"What?"

Vincent learned that his bunk mate was not only the same kid from the library, but a young student from Shanghai named Lau. Apparently the dorm gossip said he had connections with the mafia, to which Vincent and said,' _thats ok with me, my father is a hit man_ '. Nobody took that comment seriously but they all gave him funny looks after that so maybe they didn't suspend their disbelief entirely. During class, Vincent paid attention and took long notes with his pen. Sitting in class with people, in the light, it was such a thrill to him. All of this wonderful stimulation and lack of isolation, it was fascinating. He liked seeing the way people passed notes and sighed at certain points out of boredom while he himself could not be an more enthralled in this situation. He also noted that Lau took all his notes in chinese, just to keep up his act. Kudo's to you, Mr. Butterfly, you clever young bastard.

He also had dinner, like a full blown  _dinner_  dinner. Not scraps of bread; and while he was grateful for bread scraps, he was more grateful when he received like, a hot meal with everything. The other students gave him strange looks again in the shared showers. Everyone in the dorm room in the mornings would strip naked and take a public washroom shower, which Vincent was no exception to. Of course this meant that every student in Blue Owl was privy to seeing the numerous scars that covered Vincent's body. Sure, most boys just stared at the floor and counted the tiles, but some got the occasional glance at the scars. Rumors spread and it was now, that from a combination of bunking with Lau and having these scars, that Vincent got the reputation for being the coolest kid in blue house. This was a lot like being the least dorky dork in a sea of dorks, but hey, it was pretty nice.

"Okay, Phantomhive, I have a question..." Lau said, "Whats with the scars? You look like someone pushed you through a meat grinder..." he asked, sparing not a single detail for what he assumed it was.

"My father beat me with a whip. Why do you think I like here so much?" Vincent said. He found no reason to be deceitful in regards to the cause of the scars. After all, he'd probably forget the lie about them soon enough anyways so he might as well just be honest from the start.

"Less whipping."

"And more boys, of course." Vincent said. Because honestly, who sends their son to an all-boys school because they hate him because he likes other boys. That's just like sending him to heaven. If they really wanted to torment Vincent- they'd send him to an all-girls school.

"Whats that got to do with things?"

"They beat me for being a homosexual. One day I was in the garden reading Jane Austen with my sister and we were both discussing why I think Mr. Darcy is an absolute hottie and why she thinks he's not worth a damn, and as soon as you know it, I have been locked in the basement and it's been like that for years," Vincent said. He felt no need to keep it secret after all, he kept his Butterfly's little secret. They could be in secrety-secret cahoots together.

"Western pigs," Lau said. "They can't appreciate the spiritual need for such relationships."

"Are things different for the chinese?"

"Of course, if you look at the classical chinese emperors you would notice that not a single one of them was without a male lover."

"Fascinating," Vincent said. Truly? He was really taken aback by this sudden revelation. People were like him without getting killed or maimed? What a novel idea! He though of himself as a noble perhaps, with a female friend and a loyal male companion. Oh, what a lovely idea. He could see his life unfolding with that perfect, exotic plan. A wife by his side, and a lovely young man in his bed. And to add to that, it would be just his favorite type. Dark hair, dark eyes, and just a little bit rough around the edges.

"It all changed when the west showed up with their christ this and jesus that, and then you know we're all thou and holies and crosses and all the neutral energy of a male and male relationship is being called evil. Truly, England would benefit from learning a thing or two from the Taoist books."

"I agree wholeheartedly."

"But is your father really a hit man?" Lau asked. He had heard Vincent's little story about that and he found it as likely as his butterfly tale. Then again, his own family was known to have connection in organized crime, so why should it surprise him to learn that he's not the only one?

"Do you think murder means a thing to someone so cruel as to beat his own son?" Vincent asked.

"No, I suppose not."


	4. Dramatic Irony

Weston College has a drama club, just like well, every other type high school known to exist. This year they were putting on a play for Hamlet. This is a fine british school and therefore, the plays of famous british playwrights are most acceptable to a place such as this. Why, if they didn't put on Hamlet, what a mockery that would be! They held blind auditions for the whole week prior, and nearly every boy in attendance had tried their part at attempting to act from Hamlet- even students from Green House. However, it was always Blue House or Purple House that got the parts. blue house, full of smart fellows good at memorizing their lines, and purple house...was purple house. To keep any sort of funny business from going on in terms of favoritism, the blind auditions were held only to be fair. Students were judged primarily on how well their voices projected the characters.

"What the hell, how did this guy get casted as Hamlet?! I should be Hamlet!" yelled a blonde boy with long, flippy hair. He pointed at Lau, who smiled and shrugged. He said nothing.

"Because you're the only boy in class girly enough looking to play Ophelia," Vincent explained. Of course, at all boy's school, the roles for female characters were primarily selected, not on acting ability, but the ability of a student to be convincingly female. This is why Alister Druitt got stuck being Ophelia. Still, why they casted Lau as Hamlet is entirely beyond recognizable logic. Vincent was looking forward to his butterfly's greatest performance yet, and he wasn't quite talking about the play.

"Whatever, at least I'm not a ghost," Alister said, flicking his blonde hair in Vincent's direction.

"Don't worry Lau, I promise to be the best dead father of all time," Vincent said, patting his friend on the shoulder with his bony hand. It was only right for the Phantomhive to play the part of a phantom, after all.

"Arast Yorick E noo heeem wer..." Lau said, looking at the script for his play. He pretended, quite flawlessly, to be barely literate in his readings.

"No, the line is: Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio..." the drama teacher said. "Please try to annunciation your words more clearly so the audience may understand you."

"Sorry. Try harder," Lau said.

"Please see to it."

"Get nerves when people," Lau explained. Everyone put on a collective sigh, for none of them believe for a second that Lau could actually pull off acting as Hamlet. The real secret, as Vincent knew was that Lau was pretending to not know his lines while secretly knowing all of his lines and pretending to not know his lines just to piss everyone off. Vincent caught him all alone reciting them for real, and he was brilliant, but this acting was so much more insidious. Mr. Butterfly filled his heart with a type of a glee unknown to him. He made being a deceitful bastard look like fun!

"It is alright, I know you are trying your best. Now please repeat your lines," the drama teacher said this as he pinched his brow and sighed. God help him.

"What a cad," Alister muttered about Lau. Vincent jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow. Considering that he was still fairly underweight, a jab from his pointy elbow probably hurt much more than the usual elbow-jab.

"Shut up, suicide girl. You're supposed to be dead," Vincent told him. He already disliked Alister and they didn't even speak to each other in the play.

On the night of playing Hamlet, Vincent anxiously waited around, knowing that he was late for makeup, and he was urgently looking for his sister and his butler to arrive. Frances was never late, and in fact, was always uncomfortably early but this time it was fifteen minutes until curtain when she finally showed up and most of the other visitors from outside the school were already seated. Frances and Tanaka spotted him and Vincent rushed just a little bit too quickly to their side.

"Vincent, you look so much better!" Frances said as she embraced him. She felt less of his bones and while Vincent still looked kind of dead, he didn't look at horrible as he did when they last saw him off.

"Missed you two so much."

"Has Weston been kind to you?" Tanaka asked.

"Of course it has, but I have to get ready, so I will see you two after the play. PS- that chinese boy has spent the entire semester pretending to not know english and I promise you that bit of information will make the play so much better."

"Just stay out of trouble," Frances told him. Which Vincent translated as 'just don't get caught', even though Frances meant what she said quite literally. He just had a tendency to hear differently.

Vincent and Alister were back stage and Alister was busy preening his long, blonde hair with flowers so he could fake being a dead girl. The curtain closed and it was time for Alister to take on the role for which Ophelia was most known for- being a suicidal girl. Because apparently, of all notable thing young women can do with their lives, ending it prematurely was the most 'romantic'.

"Your flower is askew," Vincent said. He himself had years of practice weaving flowers into both his sister's hair and his own hair, to the dismay of their parents. He fixed it in his hair while Alister turned tern and stammered to himself.

"Thank you," Alister said. Goodness, was he blushing?

"Hope you do well, my dear Ophelia," Vincent said, and while everyone was too busy to notice, he planted a totally-not-platonic kiss on Alister's lips. Alister fainted on the spot and everyone he was playacting when they had to drag him on stage to reprise his role as the corpse of a suicidal girl. Vincent was proud of him, he really was.

Frances and Tanaka sat in the seats of Weston college's theatre next to the family of one of the other students. They talked loudly about how well their son was doing at Weston and Frances, just for a second, wished her parents could have said the same of her brother. Since he left, not a single mention that Vincent existed was within the Phantomhive household. What little he owned was thrown away, all pictures of him cropped or burnt. It was as if Vincent Phantomhive had never existed at all and the only thing left of him within the house were the invoices for his tuition payments. Which weren't shredded if only because Tanaka was in charge of managing house finances. His pale skin, grey hair, and sullen face certainly made him look perfect for the role. Frances wondered, for a second, if seeing Vincent on stage acting so very well as a ghost wasn't just the most perfect and ironic thing of all.

After their performance, Vincent and Lau headed out back, still in costume, to pass the time with Frances and Tanaka. The audience had erupted with praise for Lau's brilliant acting as Hamlet. His lines were delivered perfectly to the back of the crowd that watched him. Lau had even flawlessly imitated the accent of that time hundreds of years ago in a way that most could not dream of doing. He was the perfect hamlet, and of course, this meant that he only pissed off his classmates more. Because now they all fell like complete fools for falling into his little plan. The only sad part about the entire performance was that Lau could no longer lie to them. What a shame. He was a great actor on and off stage, Vincent hoped that they wouldn't make him transfer to purple house because of it.

"Franceeess..." Vincent said, "I bet you'll never guess what I just did!"

"What, Vincent?" Frances asked. She knew she was going to be appalled by whatever she heard, she just knew it. Vincent got closer to her and whispered in her ear.

"You saw that boy playing Ophelia, right? How he was so still. Well, Frances, just before the curtain came up, I went to fix up his hair and when nobody was looking I kissed him right on the lips and made him faint. He was passed out the entire time."

"Oh for heaven's sake, Vincent!"

"What? I think being so good it makes another faint is quite satisfactory for my first kiss," Vincent told her.

"With a boy," Frances repeated.

"Well, he was dressed as a girl, which I think makes it at least kind of heterosexual."

"Vincent, nothing about you is heterosexual. Now please promise me you'll take your lips out of the gutter and try not causing yourself to get a poor reputation."

"You forgot to mention taking my head out of the gutter."

"It's too late that. You're a lost cause," Frances said. She was so severe even though she was probably the cutest girl who visited the school that day. She had the face of a cherub, but the personality of a spartan warlord.

"Is this the cute little sister you were talking about?" Lau asked.

"Yes, this my sister, Franny. Fran-Fran, this is Lau. He's a really good actor," Vincent introduced them. Frances was clearly angered by the pet names, which really, was the only reason why Vincent used them.

"My name is Frances Phantomhive."

"Ah, you're right she's exactly as cute and short as you said she was!" Lau said.

"I'm sorry Frances, but you are awfully tiny. You barely have begun growing," Vincent said, though he himself, was short like Frances was. He hardly stood a few inches taller than she did.

"Vincent you are barely above five feet, so why don't you just shut up while you're still ahead." Frances was visibly angered. Small?! Frances was not small, she was a perfectly normal height for a young lady, and besides, smallness is the sign of youth and beauty! In a world such as this, only the smallest and most petite of women should be called refined beauties of the era.

"Are all the Phantomhives this short?" Lau asked Tanaka.

"I am sure they will get taller," Tanaka said.

Meanwhile... The future Viscount of Druitt, Alister Chambers was still passed out back stage while everyone had fun at the party. It was totally worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow guys, I like, almost forgot to update today. I was like, "man it's Friday I know have something to do but i don't remember..." so I went though everything. Went to school: check. Did school work: check. Took the dog to the groomers: Check. Bought fabric on a sale day: Check and then I was like, "oh fuck i gotta' update fanfiction. lol.
> 
> And what a week it is... it's a double update week! :3


	5. Revenge Ain't Gonna' Cure You, Honey

_Dear Frances,_  
 _I love you and I am forever grateful to your help. Thank you for everything._  
 _Much Love, Vincent._

* * *

_Vincent,  
_ _Please tell me that you are behaving yourself at Weston college. I will be there with mother and father. Please have no alarm. _I hope that you have had better standing in the school after your little triste with the blonde haired Ophelia. No, I am not proud of you no matter what little evidence you may bring up to the contrary. I am concerned for your wellbeing and you worry me in a way that is far beyond my years.__

___-Frances._  
 __  


* * *

_Dear Frances and Tanaka,_  
 _I am having the time of my life here at Weston. Though I am a third year I will be not be playing, but the annual cricket tournament allows outsiders into Weston college and I would be delighted if you two were to come and visit me then. There will be opening ceremonies and closing ceremonies as well as fireworks by the river Thames.  
_ _Currently, I am quite busy at the time with finals approaching but I have you two in my heart and in my mind._

_Much Love,  
_ _Vincent._

* * *

_To my young master,_

_It appears that your parents have told me of their interest in attending the opening celebration at Weston college. This surprises me though they have expressed a wish to not address you of their arrival in letter, they will be there to greet you at Weston in person. Please do not fret yourself over this matter._

_Sincerely, Tanaka._

* * *

Earl Phantomhive and Lady Phantomhive departed from the Phantomhive estate early that morning en route to Weston College, near London, located on the Thames river. They went along with their butler Tanaka, who drove the carriage and their daughter, Frances who sat beside them. They were approximately three miles from Weston through the forests when no other carriages were around. A masked man came wearing a lace venecian mask with fine ostrich feathers in it and a black, ankle length cloak. the carriage, by some strange force, toppled over, sending a Mr. Tanaka flying ,though he landed safely on the side of the road, since he well knew the proper way to sheild his head and neck from injuries as he rolled away. Frances Phantomhive managed to crawl out of the wrecked with a broken wrist, no big deal. The crash left Lady Phantomhive dead upon impact and the Earl Phantomhive had two broken legs, and dragged himself from the wreckage. It appears as though the masked attacked had stabbed him numerous times with a piece of wood from the carriage accident. Frances Phantomhive and Tanaka fled the scene before the masked man could harm them.

Of course, there was absolutely no chance whats-oh-ever of the masked killer actually being Vincent. None at all. Vincent had signed in at the library that morning and there was no chance at all that he snuck out the library window, climbed the wall behind Weston, and then sprinted to the woods where he would ambush the carriage while wearing a mask. The carriage wouldn't topple over and kill his mother instantly, and Vincent certainly wouldn't take a piece of wood that had broken off and noticed how it looked really, really sharp. And he certainly wouldn't have noticed that his father knew it was him and how he was crawling away. And Vincent certainly didn't not feel remorse as he took the splinter of wood and impaled him through the back with it so he died crawling on the ground like the pathetic animal he was. And he certainly didn't feel the blood that splattered across his face with his finger tips and he didn't hold up the blood that dripped from his fingers and admire himself for what he had done.

Frances and Tanaka wouldn't have known it was him the entire time and planned for this to happen, no, such treachery and murder is not suited for the youngest child of the Phantomhive family. Such a plan would be ridiculous because Vincent would be so out of breath and tired that by the time he sprinted back to Weston, scaled the wall, and went through to the library, he would have passed out right then and there at his desk in front of Lau. And he definitely wasn't faking having a severe fever and cold in order to cover up that up. That isn't something Vincent would do at all. Vincent would never kill his parents. He didn't hate or resent them at all for the years of abuse. He just wasn't that kind of guy. Vincent didn't kill his parents and he had an alibi to prove he didn't.

"You're a really good guy, you know that?" Lau asked Vincent.

"Oh? Do tell me," Vincent said.

"You had a severe sickness attack today in the library, and you are still going to the hospital in town to see your sister and your butler even though tonight is the best, and really, the only night to party all year. What a nice guy you are."

"Goodness, you flatter me," Vincent said, "But don't worry, I have a feeling they'll be alright and I'm certain I'll make it back in time for a little bit of the party."

"What a triumphant young man you are," Lau said. What could he say, he was totally in cahoots with Vincent and he didn't care if everyone beyond the fourth wall knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So please excuse me in the future if this ends up fucked up or out of date with canon. It's the nature of writing fanfic of a story that is ongoing, some things i write here may become "out of date" or debunked eventually and since this newest arc is very likely to sow the seeds of knowledge about Vincent and Dee's relationship, a lot of what will happen in this story is unlikely to ever be canon or may be OOC as we know more about them. So, please keep it mind, I've been writing and plotting story for over a fucking year now, waaaaay before the current arc, and I really like my story and I don't want to change much of it.
> 
> Now officially ends the lives of Vincent's parents...and begins a new Watchdog's legacy.


	6. Cricket Bat Concussions

"I don't know what to say I'm proud of," Frances said. She was at the townhouse with Vincent and Tanaka. All three of them were dressed in their Sunday best every though they were not going to church, they were going to Buckingham Palace, yes that Buckingham Palace, for the purposes of Vincent's cornonation. But for now, Vincent was modelling a rather sharp dark red and gold detailed suit in front of the mirror.

"Well, for starters..." Vincent went on, and while Frances's expression went sour, it did not stop him. "I am devilishy handsome, well within the standards of genius, I look fantastic in this jacket, oh, and I'm being coronated as not only en earl, but as the queen's personal detective at quite the young age," he said this as he reached for his most fabulous hat and placed it on his head.

"I do hope you greet her majesty with terms less arrogant," she said. Vincent had his fringe in his face,again, and Frances pinned it back with one of her hair pins. Now that he looked slightly less indecent, they were off to have the least responsible bachelor in England be both coronated and given a familial curse he didn't deserve but was oddly enthusiastic about receiving.

"Of course, I shant put a hair of mine out of place!" Vincent said.

"Why do I not believe you?" Frances asked as they entered the carriage.

"Because you know me too well."

Vincent was standing outside of the palace, after being newly brought into the proper station in life he felt a little, well, giddy. Frances was beside him, rife with anger that at the very last moment, he had restyled hair in his preferred way. The way which Frances thought made him far too indecent and casual to be stepping foot near her majesty. Lau was walking slowly towards them, in his usual chinese brocade clothing rather than his Weston uniform which Vincent saw him wear most often.

"So my earl, where are we headed off to?"

"I was going to smuggle a bottle back to Weston and throw one heck of a party, since I missed the July 4th celebrations and I think we all know that sapphire house's parties can't be finished unless I am both there and black-out drunk," Vincent said.

"What?" Frances asked, her eyes narrowed into slit and glared directly at Vincent.

"Nothing, my fine charge," Vincent assured her and Frances wasn't buying it. He was a terrible legal guardian, Frances was better at guarding herself than he was.

"What did you just say?" Frances demanded.

"You should get to fencing practice," Vincent said, changing the subject quickly. Frances was not entirely convinced but Vincent quickly ushered her into the carriage Tanaka was standing by.

"Study hard!" he cheered, even as Frances frowned at him from the window.

"Your sister is adorable," Lau commented.

"I know, right?"

The air is so thick with tobacco and opium smoke that the visibly is reduced greatly in the shady little den where the nobles gamble. One man throws away his entire estate for a silly card game. It is here, not the stock market, in which the economy of great britian is woefully changed for better or for worse. Should anyone be dumb enough to give away major corporate funds well, it could prove disastrous. Which is exactly why it is illegal and exactly why Vincent Phantomhive is sitting at the table with a cigar in hand, staring over his playing to the men sitting around him. He's probably twenty years the junior of the youngest man in the bunch but his assets and title are solid enough to give him credibility.

"Well, Phantomhive? You gonna' fold or not?" the man is drunk and looks over at Vincent.

"We ain't got all day," he says, slurring his words. Vincent looks up and down all arond the room, as if he could see anything behind this fog of noxious smoke. He's starting to get a headache. He's waiting for the right time to say his secret phrase.

"It's a good thing for it to be night," Vincent says, and unfurls his royal flush across the table. Just as they all look down at his cards in disbelief and anger that they've been bested by a young man, one of them is run through with a sword. He looks down at the sharp point sticking out from underneath his sternum while blood pours from his mouth. He slumps over as the sword is with drawn and Vincent looks up at Frances.

"Proud of you~!" he sings as he takes the pistol and shoots a man in the head. They are now panicking but they don't get very far, because they're all incredibly drunk and have become slow with age. Such is the curse of aristocracy!

The entire crowd of men has been slain, and the lot of them lay on the floor in a heap of blood and bullet-and-stab-wound littered flesh in some dingy old warehouse. Frances is wearing her hunting outfit with her hair pulled back in a low pony tail and a sword at her side. She looks up at Vincent with tired weary eyes, for it is just a few hours until the sun comes up and they have both been camping out here for far too long.

"To the victor goes the spoils," Vincent says as he takes a large sum of blood stained cash off of the wooden table. Murder or no murder, he rightfully earned that money. He feels light headed and he swears that he has a contact high from the opium, or perhaps he feels a migraine coming on. He pulls out a book of matches, strikes it against the floor and lights the entire building ablaze.

It's nine am and Vincent and Frances are just standing outside of the fences towards Weston college. Vincent takes out a handkerchief and wipes the blood off of his face before climbing over the fence. Frances looks back and forth to make sure nobody saw them before she ran off into the woods. Vincent saunters casually across the yards of Weston, because he knows nobody is going to be here during fag time and goes into the dormitory through the window Lau kept opened for him. He takes off his blood stained suit and tosses it into a suitcase that he hides under his bed where he keeps his nice suits from saville row he wears when he's not in his school uniform.

He is exhausted, but it's time for japanese literature so he grabs his textbook and gets ready for class. He doesn't see his fag anywhere, what an unreliable little bastard. Vincent walks across the lawns in Weston without impunity because he is the blue house prefect, but he also used to walk across them all the time when nobody was looking before he became a prefect. He was so tired and the headache was started to get to him. His world goes black as he passes out on the lawns with a book sitting on his face. He is so tired that he doesn't care where he is, the pristine lawns of weston are just as good as any matress in this case.

"Hey, wake up, mole!" someone shouts and to Vincent, their shrill shouting is distant and he's waking up from a wonderful dream.

"I could be finish is just three more minutes..." Vincent says, and in the haze

"There's no way a prefect is allowed to enter the lawn to nap!" he shouts again, the voice is becoming less distant and it's not helping the headache Vincent still has. Vincent looks up at him, and oh look, it's the handsome yet irritating green house prefect who is always yelling at him.

"Don't be so uptight, Diederich, and my name is Vincent," Vincent said, getting up off the lawn. He slouched against the fountain, which was probably not much better than sleeping on Weston's lawn.

"Don't call me by my first name, it's against the rules," Diederich said. His voice was low and the fag behind him was starting to look a little bit frightened by the situation.

"Hm," Vincent mused, despite how handsome he was, he was just so irritating, "It seems like from the people to the bread, everything german is pretty tough to handle."

"How dare you insult me?!" Diederich yelled, bringing back his cricket bat, ready to strike Vincent at any time. The boy behind him is near crying as Diederich misses Vincent quite narrowly and instead, smashes his text book to the ground.

"Thats quite the large book marker you've got there," Vincent laughs. Diederich looks at him with only contempt and fury, which really, makes him all the more amusing. Oh, how Vincent loves getting under his skin.

"You didn't come for the preparations today, I do not even know why they made you a prefect! The rest of blue house mustn't be any better than you."

"I don't mind if you say anything bad about me, but please leave the rest of blue house out of it," Vincent said. Alright, so he was sleeping on the lawn, and so he did skip the preparations because he had secret detective stuff to do, but the rest of blue house did not. They were very nice young gentleman and deserved respect.

"I will not. The leader is indicative of the pack, the people who obey you are not better than you are," Diederich said, his tone resolute. By goodness, Vincent just wanted to smack Diederich across his loud face with his ring hand. For worsening his headache, for interrupting his nap, for smacking his nice book to the lawn, and for being a complete arsehole to people who were not even involved in their argument! But anger and hatred can not be used to achieve anything.

"Well then, I propose a contest between us," Vincent said, standing up in front of the fountain. He looked prouder and sassier than he actually felt, he just wanted to go back to sleep. But no, he had to be argumentative.

"What?"

"Which dorm will win the cricket competition? Blue house or green house? The loser must perform one request from the winner," Vincent suggested.

"Fine, as if the green house would lose to the eternal losers, if I win I'll make you step down as prefect."

"Is that all? You really have no other desires...Well, I'll have to think of something as well." Vincent turned around, heading towards the class he was already late to. He was starting to feel a smile crawl it's way up his face.

"Don't break your promise," Diederich warned him. Vincent could only laugh harder.

"The same to you." Oh Diederich, what have you gotten yourself into? The Earl of Phantomhive never loses a bet.

The prefects of all four houses congregating in the swan gazebo just before the arrival of their loved ones. The air was still as all four boys and their fags stood them in casual, nonuniform clothing. Vincent stood out in his suit that was of a nicer make than the red house's prefect, Alister of Druitt. Druitt was wearing an all white suit, white waist coat, a black jabot and black womens riding boots. He was also far too much lace of french manufacture. Vincent wore the same suit as the night before, having his fag carefully wash all of the blood and opium smoke smell from it. He instructed him to 'stop asking questions, and just clean the damn blood off'. The prefect of Violet house wore a black cape, black suit and had black hair so he basically looked like a blob of gothic black with a stark white face. Diederich wore what appeared to be a german military uniform, which, really, was kind of out of place considering this was a british school and really, who the hell wear a military uniform to a formal dance? At least Alexis Midford wore a fashionable but plain grey suit that neither interesting nor laughably bad. This was all because the annual ceremony involving the elaborate house costumes had not been introduced until the year after. Before then, all prefects just wore their normal formal wear, or whatever they counted as normal, in Druitt's case.

"So... I hear there's going to be competition~" Druitt says. He is drinking contraband whiskey out of a tea cup. The violet prefect stays silent as Vincent and Diederich glare hatred and death at each other.

"A competition that I will win," Diederich says.

"Oh, how you love to say that," Vincent teases him. He sips on whiskey that burns down his throat with the same fire-hot anger he feels for the dark haired young an standing before him. Vincent lays across the couch, his against the pillow, with Alister in his lap. Vincent has a hand around his waist and nobody really seems to register this as anything out of the ordinary.

"I haven't seen you on the fields, not even once," Diederich huffed at him.

"I haven't seen you in the library once, yet somehow I'm sure you manage to pass your classes, or does the Baron Von Wolf pay off his son's grades and tuition?"

"At least my parents are alive," Diederich said. Alexis had a grim expression on his face but he was too much of a coward to tell him to stop.

"Come now, you can think of a better insult than that," Vincent said. He laughed, because his parents meant nothing to him, they were nothing more than his predecessors, and in private, he laughed at their death as well. "Or are you just going to try to hit me with a cricket bat again because you're not smart enough to come up with something witty to say, hm?"

"You're an idiot," Diederich said, his face turning red with anger and he stormed off from the swan gazebo. His feet stomped across the area like those of a child that couldn't get his own way.

"Sir!" Alexis called after him, running after him. He was a nice young man would could hardly stand raised voices or arguments.

"I find you both irritating and obnoxious, I do sincerely hope that Violet Wolf will the victor of the cricket match," said the violet house prefect. Other than that, he and his fag said nothing.

"Well, I think you are fabulooouuus," Alister said, falling off of Vincent's lap and onto the floor of the gazebo. He was clearly drunk of his literal ass.

* * *


	7. The Blue Miracle

"We lost to blue house," Alexis said. He had been humbled by blue house's efforts. He was on his head, his head rushing and spinning with confusion. Green house had no idea what had happened, they didn't see the blue house victory coming.

"I can't believe it..." Diederich said, he sat with his knees to the ground. They were both admonished and exhausted as the members of blue house picked up Vincent and carried him off into the distance screaming 'blue miracle' over and over again. Each time they cheered, it was like a pang of humiliation stabbing through Diederich's soul. But it just wasn't that simple, because miracles don't exist, smart kids with connections do.

The plan B aka 'The Blue Miracle', started the second that Vincent parted ways from his rather one sided argument and near-face-breaking encounter with a certain nasty tempered brunette. Vincent was tired and pissed off and now he was busy trying to find a way so that he wouldn't lose his bet. He had just made a check that his ass couldn't cash and he had until tomorrow to find a way to get out of this with his dignity and ass still in tact. He was going to need every smart nerdy kid in blue house to think up to a miracle. Vincent skipped his class to rush to the library, where Lau was plotting something with a couple other students to blue house. Just because they lost the cricket competition every year doesn't mean that they didn't enjoy the party.

"Lau, we need to procure a miracle so blue house wins this year," Vincent said. As prefect of blue house, he was going to lay down his wicked regime and whip these kids into shape. He had sixteen hours and he didn't know how to play cricket. The selections for the cricket primarily consisted of a short game of 'not it'.

"I thought you said that cricket is stupid, so we spent all the time we would have spent learning how to play cricket on reorganizing and expanding our student library," Lau said. He had his head in a book and was taking notes from it. Thanks to Vincent's leadership, the student library at Weston was now one of the best libraries in the united kingdom.

"I care about it now," Vincent said.

"Why?"

"I made a bet with the prefect of green house that if we can't beat them in the cricket game, that I have to step down as prefect," Vincent explained, sighing. Actually, now that he said it out loud, it sounded like a pretty awful idea. His book now had a series of crumpled and unsightly pages for nothing.

"If you were dumb enough to make a bet like that, you're not smart to be the blue house prefect anyways," said a younger student who was sitting at a nearby table. The bitterness in his voice that he was not good enough to be prefect was obvious to Vincent.

"If you don't have any ideas on how we're going to win, then shut the fuck up," Vincent hissed at him. He pulled out a chalkboard that was in the corner and set it in front of the table which several students were studying at. They looked up from their studies and gave him a look of utter annoyance at his well, being himself.

"Do we really have to do this?" asked a small voice in the back.

"Yes, you do. All of you. Now- give me some ideas on how we can win a game of cricket with absolutely no knowledge of cricket?"

"Shoot them in the kneecaps."

"Lau, no."

"You're a good marksman."

"Lau, come up with a different suggestion."

"We can drug them and sell off their organs."

"I like that first part," Vincent said, "Now how do we do this without getting caught?"

"I learned in chemistry that if you take morning glory seeds and crush them, you can create a chemical that produces hallucinations," a kid in the back said.

"Go do that. If anyone questions your use of the laboratory, I will write you an excuse, further ideas?" Vincent said, waving an arm of dismissal towards the student. The boy stood up and quickly rushed off to undertake Vincent's spooky task.

"I suggest that we put the drugs in the food before the catering service so that it doesn't cause suspicion if only the cricket players become ill."

"No, don't do that, we need to make sure that the green house prefect doesn't get drugged himself," Vincent said.

"Vincent, don't mind me here, because you know I love being in cahoots with you, but he's the best sports player at our school. Nobody is as good at cricket as Diederich. It doesn't make sense to not take out the strongest player," Lau said.

"No. I want him sober. I want him to watch as his team mates fuck up every play, I want to see the look of anguish and confusion in his eyes. I want him to feel the burning pain of defeat with a cold, sober heart," Vincent said, his tone was grim and perhaps just tinged with a sort of sick, sadistic excitement. He is a cruel, uncaring god and he does not forgive those who trespass against him.

"What did he even do to you?"

"He woke me up from my nap, he gave me a headache, and then he trampled my book with his cricket bat!" Vincent said.

"What a monster," Lau said with a sarcastic tone and a sigh.

That morning, blue house was drawn to play against purple house, who had just as many awful players as they did. It was truly no surprise that a bit of blue lotus dabbed into their morning tea put them into a lulling slumber. The crowd was truly remarkable in their apathy, for all of them wanted to see on thing truly: a rabid, one-sided battle between the jocks and the book warmers. The matches between Red and green, Blue and Purple didn't mean a thing- what they wanted to see, was Blue vs. Green, and Vincent was not about to let them go home dissatisfied. He after all, above all other things, was a vapid show pony and could not walk around in public without making a parade of himself. Some people called him extravagant and melodramatic dandy, but they were wrong. He just viewed survival as something worthy of celebration.

"May I ask what you are doing here, Phantomhive?" Diederich asked between bites of his sandwich. He was paying more attention to meat and bread than he was to the fact that the blue house's cricket team was now serving champagne to the students of green house, in some odd custom. Vincent was standing in front of him wearing his grass stained white cricket uniform. With him, he had a bottle of expensive alcohol and fine crystal that mached the glasses the rest of blue house was handing to the students.

"Being the clever sportsman I am, I came here to give you a gift to ease the certain pain of your upcoming defeat," Vincent said with a smile. His voice was filled with false kindnesses and bitter condescension. He held out a bottle of champagne and poured a crystal glass of it for Diederich.

"How humble," Diederich said, taking the stem glass of champange from Vincent. He did not pretend to have any kindness or respect for Vincent. he was a blunt as a cricket gulped down the entire glass of it in one swoop and smashed the crystal glass by throwing it against a tree. Vincent liked those glasses too, damn it. Vincent shot him a glare with his amber eyes, an action that would strike fear into the heart of any man, but Diederich wasn't smart enough to be afraid of him.

Now, Vincent was sailing across the small pond in a row boat with Diederich sitting across from him. He had a smile as wide at the atlantic ocean plastered across his face while Diederich tried looking away from him, frowning pensively while refusing any and all eye contact, as if the sheer act of being trapped on this boat with Vincent was nothing short of the most depraved humiliation. Vincent was drinking a mug of fragrant white tea out of a fine japanese cup. He held it as if his hands were iron vices, for he already knew well of Diederich's affinity for destroying his favorite drinking devices. The air was soft with the scent of the summer tea roses. Stray petals from the garden landed in the pond and colored it with bits of pink and white, but Diederich was as gray and depressing to look at as the barren skeleton trees of winter.

"Would you believe me if I told you that I kill people for a living?" Vincent asked him, his voice was friendly and polite. He was only being this frank because he already knew the answer.

Vincent took a sip of tea and sighed. Diederich was undoubtedly a normal and attractive young man, with truly not a bit of reason for why he was so, well, awful to be around. He surely mustn't have a single perverse thought and yet he stood here, cold as ice and bitter like cranberries. Vincent was always touted for his warmness and his kindness, even though the inside of him was black and soggy like the leftover tea leaves dredged from the bottom of the pot. It almost sickened him to see a vibrant young man do nothing to make himself more hospitable and instead cover himself with a spoiled attitude. Vincent clawed for bit of humanity that was still in him while simultaneously celebrating his own evil doctrines. For a second their eyes met, and Vincent could see nothing but torment in Diederich's eyes, and he fell in love instantly. Not with the young man sitting across from him, but with his own dashing abilities to strike pain into the hearts of others. There is no sweeter a perfume than the tears of your enemies.

"I would not," Diederich huffed.

"Fabulous, because tonight you and I are going to have a fun little stake out together," Vincent said, he was positively beaming with delight. He patted Diederich's shoulder with a sense of imposed familiarity. He took pleasure in the misery of others, especially those who had dared to piss him off. What could he say, he was just another sadistic monster wearing a man suit.


	8. White Noise

"What are we doing here?" Diederich asked. He and Vincent were laying on top of a loft in the library in the blue house dormitories. The library was deserted and dark and had nothing but a few oil lamps illuminating it. Vincent was obviously enthralled with watching nothing happening, though his companion was far less so.

"A stake out," Vincent replied with a hushed tone. He had a pair of fancy opera glasses he was looking out into the library with, though actually, he really didn't need them. He was just feeling a little bit sassy at the moment.

"So you actually do work?"

"Shut it," Vincent hissed.

Some boys clamored into the library with hushed voices, opening the door slowly so that no one would hear it creaking. Yet, unfortunately for them, the person staking them out was already inside the library, waiting. Diederich had finally silenced himself of the constant complaining. Vincent enjoyed the small reprieve in which his newly-won companion wasn't loud and annoying for once. The boys pulled out a bottle of cheap wine in a green bottle and Vincent pulled a pistol out of his back pocket. Diederich looked at it with an obvious expression of horror. Vincent aimed and shot the bottle, glass and wine sprayed everywhere, the boys screamed and headed out of there, one of them bleeding from the glass shrapnel.

"And that is how you put a stop to underage drinking," Vincent said. He smiled at Diederich gasping face and added in, "Weston has never been safer."

"You're a mad man!"

"And you're cute when you're angry."

Graduation had come to a close, and Vincent said farewell to a place that had been his home for many years. So long Weston, you were a home away from constant abuse and torment! A place of adventures, of friendship, of shenanigans. He would quite miss it, really. The carriage ride back to Phantomhive manor was a long one, during which Vincent observed Diederich mentally calculating an escape route while complaining loudly about the miserable, overcast weather today. And the long ride through the heavily wooded areas. And the sounds of crows cawwing, sheeps sheeping and whatever else he saw or heard. Vincent cracked open a book and hummed to himself. Soon enough the plays going through his head distracted him from the constant angry staccato of complaints. It was as if he were off on some wild adventures and that when the carriage stopped, the doors would not open to the sight of a the place where he had been tortured for so long.

Yet, as the doors opened, he came back to life and realized that this wasn't a fantasy and he wasn't some price or a knight or a god. He was no longer the hero of myth, but he still managed to be a children devoured by Saturn, swallowed up by constant grief and torment. The sight almost made him sick, it was as if nothing had really changed. Diederich looked onto the massive building with it's beautiful architecture and gardens, but Vincent could only think of that dark place in hell hidden underneath it. The smell of pink roses lightly touched by rain could never be enough to cover up what really happened here. It was time to stop ignoring this place, and to come back and make it a home. Maybe if he added some nice wall paper it would take away the constant feeling of dread that pervaded the air.

"Hi!" called a voice. A blonde young woman was standing there with a smile on her face. Rachel had already opened the door to the manor and was now hurrying down the steps, the heels of her short boots clacking against marble. Vincent rushed towards her and gave her a big hug.

"This is my fiance, Rachel," he said.

"By the way, please let me introduce you to my new assistant, Diederich," Vincent said. He grabbed Diederich by the sleeve of his dark green jacket and presented him to Rachel as if it were show and tell day in class.

"He's quite the handsome one, isn't he?" Rachel said, she brought her hand out and pinched Diederich's ass, he jumped up in the air immediately. Vincent started laughing at Diederich's sad misfortune.

"She likes to sample my conquests," he explained. Diederich was obviously angry but Vincent paid no mind to that at all, after all, what was Diederich going to do about it, whine? Because he'd done that the entire carriage ride there and it was actually becoming like white noise to Vincent. Maybe he should have Dee complain him to sleep at night.

"What do you mean by conquest?" Diederich asked with an indignant tone.

"You'll see," Vincent said. Rachel held up her hand to her mouth and gave a quick chuckle. It was an awkward situation for poor, poor Diederich.

Vincent led Diederich through the manor. He looked at the morbid paintings that were hung on the wall. Judith beheading a troupe of men, Ophelia's drowned body, and golden chandelier with red crystals dangling from them like drops of blood. It was decadent, dark, and just a little bit depressing. The Phantomhive's always had a flair for things morbidly dramatic, but Vincent was never like the rest of them. Somebody get something happy to display in this dreary place! He swore that he would go mad if he were forced to stay in this constant, dark baroque barrage of opulence and misery. That's what this place was, dark and miserable. He wished that they'd hurry it up and get electrical lines installed so it could, in the very least be bright. At least a dark and miserable guy like Diederich would fit right in with all this darkness.

"Rachel has been tormenting me," Frances said. She was sitting at a table in the parlor while Tanaka poured her a cup of coffee. He had already prepared a pot of peony white tea for Vincent and Rachel. Diederich sat down on a chair and said nothing for once.

"I have simply been trying to teach her how to look a little more lady like!" Rachel protested.

Rachel, of course, was exactly what every woman at the time would like to be. She had porcelain white translucent skin, blue doelike eyes and golden curled hair. She had thin wrists, a soft heart-shaped face. The blue lines of her veins traced lacelike patterns across her hands. She looked like she could have fainted at any minute, which was true, because she was quite sickly. But none the less, that was how it was all victorian women were meant to be. A pale doll with restricted breathing and a vacant mind. Women were not meant to be strong, but submissive, frail and always on the verge of wilting. Rachel at least looked the part. Frances had an austere disposition that could make the blood of a demon run cold with fright.

"She put pink flowers in my hair!" Frances said. Bright pink roses were now interwoven through her bun. She looked like a cute, pouting little fairy princess with her blonde hair and big green eyes. Vincent thought it was quite the upgrade.

"What a hardship you must endure, my little Franny. I'll be sure to telegraph the Vatican and have them send a priest over here immediately to exorcise the demonic woes from your blonde tresses. By the way, how was that talk with Midford?"

"There was no talk with Midford," Frances deflected.

"But I saw you looking at him," Vincent said. His gaze was sharp as it always was, and he knew when Frances was not watching him play cricket; but rather spend the entire game staring at a certain blonde cutie from green house.

"I did not look at him!"

"Sorry, my mistake Frances, you were not simply looking at Midford but gazing directly into his soul with the googly eyes of a young woman in love. Dee totally knows Midford and we could set you up on a date."

"No!" Frances said.

"Go out with him, he's cute and he likes swords, you're cute and you like swords. It's a perfect match," Vincent said. He took a sip of tea and set down his tea cups. Oh he was so serious right now. Diederich simply sighed and silently listened to the idle chatter of dating, it was his turn to become bored out of his skull. Take that, you loud german bastard.

"It's not that simple," Rachel said, "If Frances presents herself to him without a letter, or without a planned visit, Midford might think she's a whore. Or if Frances seems too eager to introduce herself, she will be called a whore. It is best if we... arrange a 'change meeting' of sorts. Stalk Midford for a bit and let things work themselves out," Rachel said. She sipped on tea from a pale blue tea cup and set it on her plate. She was calm and graceful in her pale blue dress.

"Then why has nobody said anything about us living together when we're clearly not married?" Vincent asked Rachel.

"My sister has set her heart on going to medical school, which brings all of the criticism of our family towards Angie, not myself. Being a woman is hard, Vincent. Everything we do is carefully poked and prodded and if we betray the rules even slightly, it ruins our reputations," Rachel told him. Of course, these rules nothing to change the fact that she was living with Vincent or the fact that she had given Diederich's backside a good fondling.

"I am afraid that I am lost in this conversation," Diederich said.

"You see, We're a society of endless rules that invade a woman's abilities to choose and think for herself. The entire process of a male and a female so much as talking to one another must follow an archiac set of rules. Women and men who are not related are not allowed to live together for fear that they may have unsanctioned relations," Frances said, her stern face betrayed the dainty clink her coffee mug made on the saucer.

"She means sex," Rachel clarified for him. Diederich's face turned red for a second when that particular word was mentioned.

"I would never have sex with Rachel, though," Vincent added in.

"I really don't want to know about whatever debauchery you get up to in this place, but are women truly not allowed to speak with us without asking their parents prior?" Diederich asked. The seclusion of the all-boys boarding school did nothing to harbor young victorian men with an interest in women, and he was no exception.

"Your personality does a lot more to keep women away from you than any societal rules," Vincent said.

"Don't be so mean to him," Rachel told Vincent.

"He tried to beat me in the face with a cricket bat," Vincent explained in defense of his rudeness.

"How could you?" Rachel asked Diederich, her blue eyes gave him a cold stare. "I have to marry that face, you know."

"Excuse me, but I have a letter from her Majesty," Tanaka announced. In his hand he held a pristine white envelope with the familiar red seal.


	9. Painted Up Like A French Whore

"Hm, how curious," Vincent said. He was casually reading the letter from Queen Victoria and Frances scooted a bit closer to him and tried reading the letter over his shoulder. Vincent closed the letter and mock-glared at Frances.

"Now, now, Franny. Don't be so nosy," Vincent scolded her.

"Is this the detective thing?" Diederich asked, almost with a sigh.

"Yes, it's the detective thing. And my fair fraulein, I have good news and bad news for you," Vincent said. He passed the note to Diederich and Frances took another glance over the tall man's shoulders to stare at the words on the page.

"You're not using that word correctly," Diederich said.

"You're going to have to wear a dress and act as bait for a criminal that has been selling young women for parts, so yes, I am using it correctly."

"I will not wear a dress!" Diederich stammered. He became instantly red, and it was clear that Vincent had surely gone the distance in offending him just by suggesting it. Though really, if one looked at him, it was obvious that he would look terrible in a dress. He was an attractive young man, yes, but as a woman he would be an abomination. He's too tall, too muscular. If this were a pig party, Vincent would most certainly win by bringing in a crossdressing Diederich.

"Well Diederich, it's going to be awfully unbecoming if you show up to investigate a formal ball wearing nothing but a corset and a petticoat."

"I will not be wearing women's clothing!"

"If you show up naked, we will be asked to leave."

"I will not be seen in public, either nude, nor in women's clothing," Diederich said. he was so pissed of that Vincent couldn't help but want to push him further, but he couldn't At least not now.

"Fine. But, you have to promise me you get to be bait next time. No matter what it is."

"Of course."

"It might be worse than being a woman," Vincent warned him. He took the letter back from him, evading Frances's quick grasp. Rachel was giggling at Diederich's angry expression.

"Care to actually explain something?" Frances asked.

"Queen Victoria has reported that several young girls seem to continually go missing at certain parties and they only ever seem to come back missing parts. It looks like a Viscount has been hosting many parties during the London Season, all of which were at different locations. It would be a great location if he weren't so damned obvious about it. They can't find a single bit of information on the guy but so far there hasn't been a party he's been to that hasn't had at least one dead girl attributed to it. There aren't enough leads for a formal police investigation, and as such, they called little ol' me in to make sure he stops it before he moves out of the area when the party season comes to an end. Obviously I'm going to have to act as bait in this case, because Dee won't act as bait because he's a cad."

"I would be better for the case," Frances said.

"No you wouldn't, you are my precious little sister and I will not allow you." Vincent was pulling out the legal guardian card and placing it in defense mode.

"I'm not your little girl, I can go as I please. Besides, Diederich has never even been on a case. He has no idea how to stake out. He has no idea how to investigate, and need I remind you that he doesn't know how to operate weaponry. What shall he do? Clammer the slave traders over the head with a cricket bat?" France argued. She had a good argument, but Vincent would not be dissuaded from his plan.

"No. You're not going on this one, there is too much of a risk of you getting hurt this time, and besides Dee is your replacement."

"What?!" Frances said.

"You heard me. You're a cute young girl, you should be furthering your studies and finding yourself a husband. You're not chained to the family job, I am. We are going to London and while Dee and I are at the party, you and Rachel will be out dress shopping and stalking Alexis Midford," Vincent said. Frances only pouted at him, her expression was sour like she'd eaten an unripened cherry.

"Don't pout at me, you know I have your best interests at heart."

"Bastard," Frances mumbled.

"Ouch," Vincent said. Rachel's hand was hovering over his eyebrows with a pair of metal tweezers and she was thinning down his eyebrows hair by hair. He was already dressed, his body was stuffed into a corset and he was decorate with silk, tulle, bows and all things womanly. He wore a dark blue taffeta gown with black detailing.

"Sorry, but it has to be done. Every woman does it."

"I don't have thick eyebrows, Rachel."

"Not for a man you don't, but for a woman you would be ghastly," Rachel told him. She plucked his eyebrows into a perfectly feminine arch shape, then lined his eyes with a black of black pencil. She put on him false eyelashes and a touch of glossy lipstick. His face was powdered down and highlighted.

"Don't cover up my mole. I like my mole. It's cute and sexy," Vincent complained as he felt the powder brush against his cheek. Rachel sighed and drew a little black heart over where his mole would be.

"Happy?" she asked, holding a mirror up for him to look at.

"I make a hot woman," Vincent said.

"Yes you do, now look here," Rachel said, holding his head by the chin and thinking of where to put her next invention. She pinned back his hair and clipped in a variety of extensions and braided it. She pinned a black veil with a peacock ornament to his updo and placed a few tendrils of curled hair down his shoulders.

Diederich was waiting at the landing, wearing a black suit that had well, nothing interesting aboutit. He wore a few silver rings and a silver brooch in the shape of a deer's skull, but nothing well, interesting. It was actually quite depressing to look at him, really. A scowl doesn't really match anything. Vincent flooded the stairs in a mass of shining blue taffeta, black lace, curled hair, and black peacock feathers. He had the smile of someone who was just a little too excited to be wearing women's clothing. He didn't look bad as a woman, no, he passed quite well! With a bit of make up and tape he even had a convincing bit of cleavage going on in the chest area, and a sapphire choker and pearls to drape over it. Honestly, Diederich should be grateful that he's gotten this attractive of a woman, honestly, he can't appreciate the art in it.

"Well, at least one of us looks fabulous," Vincent said.

"Are you insulting me?" Diederich asked.

"You look at though you're going to a funeral. And why don't you take that awful frown off your face? You're supposed to be taking a beautiful young lady to the ball tonight. Why don't you ravish me properly, hm?" Vincent asked. He took out a black lace fan and pretend to fan himself accordingly. If he were playacting any kind of woman, he'd be playacting a saloon whore. But hey, he's a hot drag queen and Diederich is a hot, but forlornly dressed young man.

"You're not a woman, Vincent," Diederich said.

"Call me Vivien!" Vincent cheered, draping his arm over Diederich's shoulders and one leg around his waist. Diederich was too horrified to move, he was paralyzed like a rodent pretending to be dead. Vincent took great pleasure in this particular display, even though his handsome assistant was stiff in all the wrong places.

"Stop touching me," Diederich said. Vincent did not listen to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inside joke here is that my name is Vivien. If you didn't quite get that joke, then you probably should have read my profile. It's full of great information about me that nobody actually wants to know. Like the fact that I'm a vampire.


	10. Vices

"Remember our plan?" Vincent quizzed Diederich, who was looking at a crowd of finely dressed people walking into the venue. Hundreds of people, all couples or debutantes flocked to the entrance, entering the building hand in hand. This fine venue was decorated with only the beautiful and most expensive decorations, for the more money a person spent on the party, the more popular they would become at the other parties. It was all about upstaging each other in a grand display of money flashing. They were here for the fine London season, to socialize and to either further their reputations or ruin them after drinking too much wine. Though honestly given the Viscount's hobby for selling off human body parts, most of them probably gave no fucks about their reputation and were there for the sole purpose of buying human body parts. As the london socialites say- feed the rich, eat the poor.

"You will try to find the Viscount, and I will follow you as you do this and when we see evidence of his wrong doings, we will apprehend him and bring him to the police."

"No, Diederich. When we find him, we will get him alone and murder him," Vincent said, whispering the word murder in case anyone around was being a nosy nelly, or was tragically sober during this big debauchery festival of drunken gross violations of human right's laws.

"You will murder him."

"You're lucky you're beautiful, or I'd smack you," Vincent threatened him. He wasn't particularly impressed with his assistant's sudden outburst of morality. Having a conscience in a place like this would only serve to get you killed. There isn't such a thing as a living detective that doesn't have blood on their hands. But Vincent's anger is softened considerably by the fact that he could easily fill entire books with the lists of things he'd like to do to his fair assistant.

The Viscount's ball was a bright and happy celebration typical to those of the London season. Couples were dancing waltzes at socially mandated distances that seemed impersonal even between those who were married. It was hard to imagine that with all the careful eyes of governesses and chaperones that any young women could go missing, but they did. There were entire pyramid shaped stacks of wine glasses everywhere, and that was probably the reason for such a vast disregard for the safety of the young women present. Loud music was playing and people chattered among themselves in their little pre-built social groups. Vincent would be looking forward to seeing if any familiar faces could dare guess who secretly showed up at the ball in the most lavish dress there!

"I hate this, and I hate you," Diederich commented.

"Shut up and hold my hand," Vincent told him. He reached his hand out and grabbed Diederich's hand and squeezed it tightly. He could see the other man recoil instantly, so he snapped a quick kiss on his cheek. Vincent knew exactly how it pissed him off, so it was fun to see him try to keep composure. Had he not been dressed as a woman, Vincent was entirely sure that Diederich might punch him in the face for pulling that stunt. It only made him want to try that later on.

"Remember, I am supposed to be your beautiful date, so look a little bit happier. Because with your personality there's no way you'd be able to get a girl as cute as I am without paying for her."

"You look like a woman I'd be paying two pence for," Diederich said. Vincent swatted him on the shoulder with his black lace fan.

Like many parties, this party had a rather generous buffet table. Which really, was something of a cruel joke considering that half of the women at this party were women. Women that were so so tightly laced within their corsets that they could not eat a thing and would just sip water all night. Vincent had joined the women for once and had a sever, instant lesson in empathy towards the fairer sex. Being a woman was painful and unpleasant. Instantly, Diederich found himself in love at first sight with the sandwich platter and Vincent found himself sighing and following his supposed assistant to the table. Diederich was busy falling madly in love with his sandwich and Vincent was getting annoyed because it was obvious that they weren't going to find the organizer of this party sitting around and eating. This was an investigation of human trafficking, not the investigation of sandwiching.

"Dee, we need to investigate."

"C'mon, enough with the sandwiches. If I can't eat because of this bloody corset, then you don't get to stuff your face in front of me," Vincent said as he pulled Diederich away with his first and only true love in life and towards the dancing area so they could look for the human-selling tart.

"Excuse me, don't I know you?" a man asked, tapping gently on Diederich's shoulder. Vincent and Diederich looked over and well, well! It was none other than Alistair Chambers... or as he's known now, the Viscount Druitt. Both of them flinched for a second, and Vincent hoped that he would not be recognized. After all, he and Druitt had been very rather close, physically anyways, during their time at Weston.

"Oh, Mr. Chambers!" Diederich said.

"Please, just call me Alistair, I've arranged this party, you know. And who is this beautiful woman you are dancing with?" he asked. His blue eyes met Vincent's brown ones and just for a second, Vincent thought his cover was blown. Yet it appeared that this blonde was as spaced out now as he always was! Thank goodness for the small miracles in life.

"This is my... friend, Vi...vien," Diederich said.

"It's a real pleasure to meet such a beautiful blue bird at my parties," Alistair said. He took Vincent's hand and kissed it gently. Vincent giggled nervously. Since when was he into women and come on, really, blue bird? Total closet case. Vincent could also speculate this because he had initiated in sexual relations with this man many times before at Weston. He was easier than stealing candy from a baby, except instead of stealing candy he was having sex with and instead of a baby it was a blonde pompous imbecile.

"The pleasure is mine, I love going to parties," Vincent said. He put on a horribly fake falsetto, which was betrayed by the slight raspy tone of his voice caused by his love of smoking and the fact that he was a man with a deep voice. Alistair was hardly at all put off by this. His hand found it's way to Vincent's tightly bound waist and pulled him close. He had no sense of shame at all, but Vincent already knew that. It was just that Druitt's constant desperation had infinite limits, and Vincent was always put off by it. Sure, he was a pervert too, but at least he had some class left in him, even if it was only pretense.

"Would you like a tour of my home?" he asked.

"Oh, is this where the real fun begins?" Vincent flirted, winking at Alistair and moving a little bit closer to him.

"Of course, my beautiful blue bird. You won't mind if I take this beautiful woman from your sight, will you?" Alister asked Diederich.

"Not at all," Diederich said just a little bit too eagerly. He immediately darted off in the direction of the sandwich buffet.

"Well then, darling," Alistair said. He took Vincent by the waist and led him through the ballroom. He had absolutely no idea that the beautiful blue bird in his arm was none other than the blue house prefect. Stupid Viscount, don't you realize that only the male birds are the more colorful ones?

"You know, you seem so familiar. I could stare into those beautiful brown eyes until the end of this century," Alistair said. Vincent wanted to sock him. This is why he didn't want Frances to come on this mission, if she did, she would've had to get hit on by this creep and Vincent wasn't about to let that happen. Then again, he wasn't so bad looking. He was handsome, it was just his personality that was skeevy, the rest of him though- quite desirable. Vincent could quite desire him for rest of the night, but alas, he had to put a stopper on that whole 'human trafficking' business he was up to.

"Why don't you put that mouth of yours to better use, hm?" Vincent asked, and clearly he didn't need to ask twice, because the Viscount was on him like flies on honey with in seconds. He really had no class or tact, but that was okay with Vincent. He just needed to do something incriminating so Vincent could bust him, but for now, Vincent could wait here and kill some time by enjoying himself a little bit. If it would be a shame to not get some use out of him before putting a bullet in the brain Alistair clearly wasn't using.

Alistair pushed Vincent back onto his bed, not really caring whether or not he did anything at all to harm that fabulous peacock fascinator that he was wearing. The feathers got all bent and the Viscount was busy pushing back the layers of organza and taffeta that kept Vincent's stocking clad legs covered. He rolled back the stockings, which were a black with midnight blue damask flourishes knitted into the pattern. Alistair was now kissing Vincent's pearly white thigh meat. Vincent laughed to himself, knowing what Alister was going towards, and what sort of unexpected discoveries he was about to find. He was really nearing himself to the truth, that stupid son of a bitch. Alistair pulled down Vincent's bloomers and got himself an eye full of boner.

"Ah, what a lovely surprise," Alistair crooned. He was the worst closet case Vincent had ever seen. Not a single bit of hesitation was to be found in his voice, and how quickly Vincent's calves were now propped up on his shoulders showed a great deal of enthusiasm.

Alistair had no lack of desire to put a penis in his mouth, and for that, Vincent was feeling quite fortunate because Alistair really was a champ at sucking some cock. Good for him, Alister had finally found his true calling in life. Too bad he was also a human trafficker, and as Alistair was fondling him, Vincent had just the smallest thought of locking him up in the basement and keeping his as a pet. It would be some sort of fun ironic joke, that he was sure some nonexistent divine being could laugh it. But that was just about as immoral as killing young girls, so really, it all evened itself out. He'd deserve it. Vincent thought of murdering Alistair as he came, and he didn't feel all that guilty about it. It was weird, sure, but he had thought of stranger things while getting head before and it just wouldn't be an orgasm if he wasn't thinking about murder when it happened/

"Now I get to have some fun with you," Alistair said, pulling out a handkerchief that smelled like gasoline and stale medicine and pressed it to Vincent's mouth. He tried screaming for help, but all he could make were muffled noises before he drifted off into a twilight sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diederich runs off to stuff his face with sandwiches while Vincent gets his cock sucked. Great detective work, guys! 10/10
> 
> These things take time. No iconic detective team is awesome right out of the gate. But wow if you don't read the manga you should because if you don't you would so miss out on the fact that Diederich is kind of adorable and pouty? I'm sure if he socialized with women instead of the sandwiches he could find one girl to fall for his curmudgeonly ways and sweet ass manor. It worked for Vincent.


	11. Insert Bullet Into Foot

"I hate you so much," Diederich said in a flat tone. He was tied up next to Vincent and struggling in a way that was not helping their given situation. They were bound back to back by black leather belts tightened around their wrists, arms and torsos. The struggling only made the bonds chafe around their wrists and leave red welts. Vincent had a killer headache and he was grateful that the room was poorly lit and that smoke obscured most of the light in the room anyways. The noxious smell of smoke of all varieties- opium, cannabis and tobacco stung his eyes and made it hard to breathe. Mostly every one here was too drunk or tool much of a degenerate to care.

People in the crowd cheered for them too loudly. Vincent had just had a fantastic blowjob and a less than fantastic chloroforming and his head was pounding with pain. Diederich struggled against the belts and Vincent sighed. He would think a way out of this, when the pain subsided and the crowd would just shut the hell up. They were placed in a cage on a circular stage so that everyone in the room could leer at them. He scanned the people there, spotting some familiar faces, as well as his dear ol' cocksucker Alistair who was standing on the stage with them, waving for the crowd to quiet down so that he may make some sort of announcement.

"You hate everything, why not try looking on the bright side for once?" Vincent asked Diederich, who continued his fruitless and pathetic were getting nowhere, except more tired.

"I present you- two fine german beauties," Alistair said, his tone of voice was extravagant and overly put-on, as usual. He was an attractive blonde dandy with light eyes, fair skin, and wore a white suit accented by black and gold details. People in the crowd wooed over him accordingly. Vincent was less than wooing at this moment, and saw him as nothing more than an idiot who had just temporarily taken control of the situation. He still believed himself to be the smarter man in this lifetime, the prior chloroforming, bonding and selling meant nothing.

"You were molested, and now we're both being sold into slavery. I fail to see any good things that have happened this evening," Diederich said, his voice wavered with emotional distress.

"It wasn't molestation, I did that willingly. By the way, how the hell did you get caught?" Vincent asked. If he were here alone, being sold off like a cheap hooker, that would have been acceptable, but no, his supposed 'assistant' was also stuck with him, that idiot.

"I saw that you had been assaulted by Chambers and I was quite... shocked, as it were. He took advantage of my weakness."

"Sometimes you have to make your own fun in this business."

"I fail to see how what you did could be considered fun," Diederich said. He was so clueless, Vincent would have felt bad for him if he wasn't currently being auctioned off because of it.

"This one is a fine virgin, you could keep her as a pet or sell her for parts," Alistair said, pointing at Vincent. The crowd cheered, and people raised their auction paddles at his dress-clad form. There was a bidding argument. However bought him would be in for quite the surprise as he's not a virgin, fine, or suitable for selling in whole or a la carte. He is covered with scars and has a large package under the layers of dress. Along with drugging, and human trafficking, Chambers took absolutely no moral discontent with false advertisement.

"Actually Alistair, let me amend your selling points, he's a virgin," Vincent said, obviously referring to Diederich, though nobody could hear his snide talk above the crowd. Diederich sighed in response. He had not provoked two nobles in a bidding war but it was Diederich, he was always this gloomy.

A gun shot went off and the crowd gasped and fell into a panic. Though they really shouldn't have been that panicked, considering that firing off a gun into the ceiling area of the room was probably the most legal thing to take place here this entire evening. Nobles, male and female alike rushed out of the room in a clamor. They had absolutely no time to stick to their convictions, it was all about saving face in society. Sure they'd all willingly take part in crime but to be caught? What a faux pas! They were afraid of the police, or perhaps a murderer, but the truth was far worse. The shoved each other back and forth as they squeezed their impractical ballgowns and canes through the one exit door in the room. Alistair let out a high pitched whine of a scream as he was shot in the foot and fell down to the stage, unable to pick himself up and get away. As the room cleared, it was clear the shot had been fired by a short, long haired young boy in a dandy brown hunting outfit, carrying a rifle in his hand. He had a totally out of place and ornate sword hitched to a belt loop on his pants. It was none other than Vincent's sister, Frances Phantomhive.

"Pathetic," she said dismissively, shooting a hateful look towards the criminal she had just apprehended. Frances took a good hard look at the two young men strapped together in front of her, and the whining dandy behind her. So much for the supposed 'strength' that she lacked. She was the only useful person in this entire situation, and also the only one with a uterus.

"Hi Franny," Vincent said, casually, trying to play this all off as if it were nothing. It didn't work on Frances. It never worked on Frances.

"Don't go to the party, you said. I wouldn't be able to handle it, you said. It's dangerous because you're a girl, you said. Diederich is so capable, you said. And look at where you are," Frances scolded them. Vincent and Diederich were still tied up, and she didn't look like she wanted to let them go any time soon.

"Alright, so maybe I overestimated Diederich..."

"Hey! I tried, damn it!" Diederich said.

"Oh shut it, you need me," Frances told her, her voice stern. She pulled out a serrated hunting knife from the pocket of her baggy brown waist coat that she took from Vincent's old wardrobe, and cut the belts. One by one they snapped, and Frances was glaring at Vincent for the entire duration of this. She was right, she was always right. He needed her, Vincent really needed her, but he didn't want to admit to it.

Alistair was trying to crawl away with a bullet still firmly lodged in his foot. Even if he had gotten out of the room (which he did not), he still would have left a painfully obvious trail of blood behind him. He crawled at a snails pace. HE could be left on his own for now while Frances got the two less-skilled detectives out of their bondage. Vincent stood up, straightened out his skirts and charged forth. Alistair was not much competition in his race to the finish. Vincent stamped down on his injured foot with the heel of his fashionable womens' shoe and pressed down on it with all of his weight. Alistair let out a scream and tried to wiggle away. Vincent only stamped down on it again.

"As Vincent Phantomhive, the personal detective and enforcer of her Majesty, Queen Victoria, I am now informally charging you with human trafficking, murder, fraud, tax evasion, and false advertisement of goods," Vincent said. He pulled out a gun from in between his fake cleavage and pointed it at Alistair's head. The metal of the gun butted itself directly to his scalp. "Any last confessions?"

"I'm really sorry and I promise I won't do it ever again," Alister said. Vincent sighed, he was kind of a pain in the ass, but he was also a stupid pain in the ass. He was barely good enough to sell a couple of nameless biddies. Here the stupid blonde was as Vincent had seen him many times before, begging for release and looking the other way. He couldn't help but feel just a little bit nostalgic about this situation.

"Fine. But if you ever, ever, ever get caught pulling this again, I will kill you," Vincent said. He stepped away from him, lowered his gun, and shot Alistair in the other foot. Just because he could. Alistair screamed again. It was a fun night.

Vincent, Frances and Diederich exited the manor, and the people from the party had already vacated the premises. Aside from the man crawling around screaming from help, they were the only attendants at this fine ball. It went from being a thriving crowd of criminals and perverts to being a small group of royally-patronized criminals and perverts. Before they left, Diederich quickly grabbed another sandwich from the buffet table. Frances quickly drank three glasses of wine that remained on the table. Vincent, being constricted in a vice-like metal torture contraption, could ingest nothing. It was still in the darkest hours right before the sun rise when they left the party and the terrible failure that was Vincent's first mission without Frances. By the time that they got to the Phantomhive estate it was light outside, and none of them had gotten a single bit of sleep or rest. It would be time to start the day as soon as they knew it Tanaka greeted them at the door, and Frances ran quickly up the stairs, presumably off to sleep.

"I swear the lot of you are queers," Diederich said, exasperated and tired.

"No just me." Vincent said with a smile.


	12. Constructive Criticism

"I'm taking a nap," Diederich announced. He did not ask, he simply trodded over to the couch in the sitting room and unceremoniously laid back and fell asleep almost instantly. He did not take off his boots. Vincent made a mental note to throttle him for that later, but now he needed to get this damn annoying dress off so he could do basic human things like eating or breathing.

"I can't do this!" Frances said, sighing. She was... not at all prepared for her date with Alexis Midford. She had last confronted Alexis Midford wearing a men's fencing uniform (because there were no such thing as womens' fencing gear, for obviously sexist rationale) and a look of complete hatred and indignation upon her face. Now she might end up facing him with her hair done in nothing but a loose pony tail, her eyes had unsightly purple bags. She had just stayed up all night bailing Vincent out of trouble and it was obvious.

It's a good thing Rachel was here first thing in the morning to help the two of them get back to looking their proper genders. Rachel undid the buttons in the back of Vincent's dress, but Frances demanded more of her current attention. Vincent was still fiddling around with his clothing. He managed to get off the dress after fumbling around, waving his arms and legs about like an idiot. He struggled with the concept of disrobing womens' clothing. This was not a great omen to be held for the evening of their nuptials. Vincent was now done kicking off the skirts and petticoats, and quickly working on untying the bustles from around his waist. He swore he must have been wearing at least twenty pounds of fabric and metal.

"Nonsense, we can just add some make up," Rachel explained as she took the hair extensions out of Vincent's hair. He winced a little bit as strands of his hair came out with the metal extension clips. He was now fussing his hair with a brush trying to get all of the teasing out of it. He managed to pull out a lot of his own hair in the process of doing this.

"There's not enough make up in the world that could salvage this," Frances sighed. Rachel sat her down in front of a vanity. She was armed with a make up case and the skill of a bored teenage girl with a fascination for fashion.

"If I can make Vincent into a beautiful young lady, I can hide some dark circles under your eyes."

"He looks like a prostitute!" Frances protested. Rachel was already getting her work station out, by organizing her makeup on the table and taking her brushes out of her floral printed fabric brush roll.

"Rude!" Vincent interjected.

"I think that has a lot more to do with his attitude than my skills, now, remember who picked out that cute lavender dress for you?The one that looked perfect?" Rachel asked.

"You did," Frances conceded.

"Precisely. I am the master of style of style and grace. I have nothing better to with my time than to sit about trying to make myself look pretty, how do you think I was able to get your brother interested?"

"It's different because you two are friends, and you only want my brother for his money. I think I might want Alexis, for y'know..."

"His penis?" Vincent asked. Rachel elbowed him and gave him a glare.

"N-no! Absolutely not! I meant for his, love, and admiration. And I'm not going to get love or admiration if he comes here and sees me looking like a gross man."

"Aw, you do have a heart after all," Vincent teased her.

"Vincent please! A woman's soul should always be as fine and delicate as the lace on her blouses, and even though some girls are just a bit rough, that doesn't mean that we can't make them look as soft as velvet."

"We're getting a little heavy handed with the metaphors, aren't we?" Vincent asked. He was currently pulling the tape off of his pectoral muscles with a wince. It ripped off a bit of skin but it felt much better than to keep that tight tape on his skin.

"You woke me up first thing in the morning to do your sisters make up. After this, I need to go to my parents house and pick up Anne and help coax her into a healthy interest in men so our parents will stop blowing a gasket,"

"Rachel, I'm sure I can educate cute little Angie on having a healthy interest in men," Vincent said.

"You are not showing my sister your collection of gay pornography."

"Please stop talking..." Frances said, her face was red like a beet even as Rachel was buffing out her foundation with a concealer powder. It was the mention of that word, not gay of course, but pornography that embarrassed her.

"Frances, I have sex with men. And one day, you will also have sex with a man. And hopefully we'll both be having sex with men that we love very much," Vincent told her.

"We're not talking about this," Frances said. She tried to hold her hands over her ears but Rachel lowered her hands so she could fix up France's hair.

"Yes we are, and when you are done with your date and should you decide to pursue him further, I'm going to explain to you, in great detail-"

"Vincent if you're not going to do anything constructive, get out."

"But you still need to undress me," Vincent complained. A corset required two people to put on and take off, and he couldn't reach back far enough to untie the laces with it restricting his moment.

"Out," Rachel said with a glare.

"Fiiiinne..." Vincent sighed. He knew that Rachel was not a woman to be tested. Plus, it was probably a good idea not to fuck with a woman who had a curling iron in her hand.

Alexis Midford was at the door. Frances was still upstairs, not yet in her dress, and Rachel most most likely still sculpting France's blonde hair into something presentable. Tanaka was looking at Vincent, knowing that he would love to handle this situation personally. There was the manner that Vincent was still dolled up, his face was painted like a french whore. He wore fitted women's shoes, stockings and ruffle butt panties that more or less enhanced a natural gift of his, and his hair was still in a state of rustledness. Vincent slid down the banister of the stair case and landed with a clack of his heels and strode over to the door proudly and with absolutely no subtly or feminine grace. He had the black lace fan in one hand, and with the other he opened the massive wooden door to give Alexis Midford an eye full of more Vincent than he could have wanted to see.

"So, what exactly are your intentions with my cute little sister, hm?" Vincent asked Alexis, waving the fan back and forth. He was posed in a way that was provocative, and shameless in a way that looked like a poor parody of how a sex worker would act. Alexis Midford was clearly caught off guard by this baffling and homoerotic display. When one goes to ask Frances Phantomhive out on a date, they do not expect her older brother to greet them at the door wearing a corset and panties.

"Well, uh, Phantomhive, I-" Alexis stumbled over his words and his face grew pinker with nervousness.

"You want to take her out on a date, right?"

"Yes."

"And you're going to be a gentleman, correct?"

"Yes."

"Good, because if you are not, Frances will beat you silly, and then I will hunt you down and you will receive a complementary second beating from myself."

"I know. Frances whipped me last night at our fencing match," Alexis said with a smile.

"Wait... what?" Vincent asked, taken a bit aback. Frances did not not mention this. There was no talk of fencing matches or beating up young boys at fencing matches. He was intrigued by this, and felt just a bit disappointed that such information was not disclosed previously. He was now wondering if the whipping was literal or not, and where she had gotten the whip.

"I was utterly humiliated by it, actually. I had no interest in girls, until I met Frances. I just never thought I would be the type of gentleman to look into romance, I only wanted to be a swordsman. It feels like we're meant for each other. I had no idea they are even allowed to fence at the Queen's Tournament, but when I went up against her, I was on my back completely out of breath before I knew it. You never know someone until you fight them, you know? I humbly surrendered not only the match, but my heart," Alexis said. Vincent could tell that his sappyness was sincere, and that he was not just playing it up for approval. He really, honestly, and devoutly was that much of a sap. Vincent could smell a drop of insincerity from a mile away but Alexis was clean. He was just, a really nice guy. But nobody would ever be nice enough for his savior, his lovely sister Frances.

"Well then, you better treat her like a princess, because when we were children she told me that she always wanted to be with a handsome young knight, and don't tell her I said that, but she's secretly the sweetest young woman in England and you'd best get her something to match," Vincent said, casually lying. Frances did like sweets, but really, who didn't, and kind as she was, she was about as warm as ice. Her way of showing affection, apparently, involved attempted stabbings and humiliation. Vincent suspected that this was a typical Phantomhive trait and a result of his poor influence as a guardian.

"Hello, ol' chum!" Alexis said as he embraced Diederich in a firm, manly hug. He had all the endearing qualities of a socially awkward british school boy, with exuberant enthusiasm, but with the slight tinge of shyness that made him bumble over his words from time to time when in the presence of those he particularly admired. Vincent knew that Alexis thought he was something of a master game planner, a kind of savant strategist. Vincent had drugged him, and he didn't think anything bad of anyone so he believed in the blue miracle wholeheartedly. It was guys like this that made Vincent's life so much more entertaining.

"Good morning Midford," Diederich replied.

"I was not expecting you to still be here after graduation," Alexis said.

"Well, as it were, I've taken up working with Earl Phantomhive and his family after graduation. We're in the detective business," Diederich said, leaving out the details involving the fact the he wasn't getting paid and Vincent was essentially holding him hostage through a means of promises. Promises that he could kill Diederich and make it look like a bloody accident.

"That's so cool! I'm so happy you two have finally buried the hatchet and become friends."

"We're super pals," Vincent said, putting his arms around Diederich with a wide smile.

Frances came down the stair case. She looked beautiful, the picture of a fine victorian lady. Rachel was a miracle worker. Her blonde hair was styles delicately, not too garishly, with her signature lock of blonde hair curled at her shoulder. Pale pink roses and a small veil adorned a straw hat placed on her head. She wore a dress of light lavender silk garnished here and there with rows of pale pink organza ruffles and matching silk roses. Vincent should have been proud of her for becoming such a becoming young woman but instead he just wanted to throttle any man that came near her. Earlier, he was some what excited to set her up but now he felt nothing but the urge to kill Alexis, which he knew was totally irrational. He knew in his mind that Alexis was a really nice person but, what if he wasn't? Vincent had seen too many men that seemed nice on the outside to be true killers on the inside- after all, he was one of them.

"Frances!" Alexis said, and greeted her with a tight hug, nearly picking her up in his excitement. Vincent stepped forward and separated them manually so that they were now exactly one foot from each other.

"Er, sorry," Alexis said, removing his arms from around Frances.

"Tanaka, will you please chaperone their outing?" Vincent asked. Tanaka nodded in approval. He knew what was what, and Vincent knew Tanaka would understand why this was a task of utmost importance.

"I thought Rachel and Angelina would-" France tried to protest but Vincent would hear nothing of it.

"I believe that Tanaka is a much more suitable chaperone, dear," he said sweetly with a smile made of broken glass. There would be no silly business or petticoat ruffling with Tanaka afoot. They'd be lucky if they got to hold hands with their fingers criss crossed. Alexis and Frances would be off to enjoy the most strictly supervised provisional outing any two young people in England would have ever faced. As Tanaka rushed the two provisional victorian teenagers off on their provisional hyper-supervision no-bustle-snuffling outing, Vincent waved goodbye to them from the door.

"Are you crying?" Diederich asked Vincent.

"I'm just so proud of her," Vincent said. He brushed the tiny droplets out of the corners of his eyes before they could ruin his ridiculous makeup.

"I don't understand anything about you."

"It's okay Dee," Vincent said, he wrapped his arm around Diederich's shoulder again. Diederich brushed him off and glared at him.

"Stop touching me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is my headcanon that Alexis is like, a total fanboy when it comes to Vincent. Vincent is the cool kid that Alexis wishes that he could be, but he's not because he's really just a nice normal guy and Vincent is a sociopath who kills people for a living. Like, instead of being horrified and disgusted by seeing Vincent in ladies lingerie like Dee he would just be like OMG PHANTOMHIVE SENPAI IS SO COOL AND EDGY and not think anything more of it. Alexis Midford is Vincent's #1 fangirl. Rachel is the #2 fangirl. Dee and Frances don't understand why his poor behavior would lead to people liking him at all. Frances quite frankly would like her brother to stop the silliness and act more responsible.
> 
> I think I've spelled Diederich's name like 15 different ways already. I will probably never spell it right or consistently. I never spell anything right or consistently even though I always get 100's on my lab exams, where spelling counts and everything is psuedo-latin medical words. Even though I apparently am not smart enough to spell his name right, but it's okay because he's not smart enough to figure out that Vincent wants to jump him. Honestly, I don't even think Vincent knows that yet. But it's OK. They can figure out how tension works one chapter at a time. I know how romantic tension works. I have not had physical relations with a woman since 2008. (not a joke)


	13. Like a Candle Flickering Out

Diederich was ushered by Vincent into the very room where Diederich wanted to be the least, and that room was Vincent's bedroom. It was furnished with a breed of style that was entirely described as being Vincent's own personal taste plus whatever Rachel thought would look nice added to it. He had many paintings in ornate gilded frames hung on the walls. The wall paper was lavender with cream stripes that had embellishments of lilacs painted on it. It was clean save the piles of books that were stacked next to the night stand. They were just just high enough to be reached from behind the heavy silk bed curtains. He ignored traditional rationale of what constituted tasteful decor in favor of always being able to find his favorite books within ten steps of his bed. It was a truly horrifying sight, but it was far from the worst thing Diederich had seen that evening. He probably did not get a good look at the Viscount's bedroom, but even Vincent's choice in decor was less gaudy than that.

"Can't you have Rachel do this?" Diederich asked Vincent. Vincent could feel him staring at the scars that could seen criss crossing his upper back and shoulders. He seemed more uncomfortable by the sight of seeing him an undressed state of any kind, so perhaps he didn't notice, or he was too horrified to really make anything of it. Vincent half wanted him to say something stupid just so he'd have an excuse to say something cruel in return. It was the lack of sleep and his sadist complex at work.

"She's getting ready. It's a corset, just untie the fucking knot," Vincent told him. The corset, while it appeared to be an intimidating crisscross of silk ribbon, it was actually more simple to take off than it may seem at a first glance. In order to remove a corset, you first undo the knot, then loosen the ribbons so that the front busk can be unclasped. This was not rocket science, but to a man, it may as well have been.

"I don't want to undress you," Diederich complained.

"It's a corset. It's not like I'm asking you to slather me up in olive oil and reenact the greek olympics."

"I don't understand half of the nonsense you keep saying to me," Diederich said. He fiddled with the ribbon but managed to untie the ribbon. Vincent took off the corset as fast as possible.

"What I keep referring to you has been a series of sexual innuendos," Vincent said as he unclasped the busk. As he unclasped the top metal hooks and went for the bottom ones, they rehooked and unhooked themselves at random. He swore under his breath at the damned device, but after about five short battles with the damned metal closures, he finally escaped from the corset. He was free.

"Excuse me?"

"C'mon, you know what sex is, Dee. I mean look at me, if you're wasting this opportunity by not having sex with me, I don't know what to tell you except that you clearly have notbeen making the right decisions in life," Vincent said as he took off the garter belt and peeled off the already ruined stockings. He walked into his large dressing room and dressed as Diderich stood outside of the door. Vincent emerged a few minutes later, dressed as he was normally dressed, free of any makeup and looking much less tired than before.

"What are you implying?" Diederich asked Vincent. He looked clearly and obviously offended, but Vincent was tired and irritated and even if he wasn't, he still would have said those things.

"Well, a few jokes earlier I was implying that we should have some sex, but now I guess I'm just implying that you're incredibly niave," Vincent told him. Diederich looked just a little bit more bothered than his normal grumpy self.

"You know what? I really do not care what sort of perverted thoughts you entertain, and I couldn't care less about what idiotic rumors people told you about me, but keep your idiotic insult to yourself. For ever," he said, with a tone that made it sound like a threat. Vincent wanted to know what would happen if he kept pressing on.

"Well if you don't care about perverse thoughts, then why did you look at me so much when I was in a state of such provacative dress?"

"I was more disturbed by the manner of scars which you have."

"Tell me, how do you think I got those?" Vincent asked as if he was daring Diederich to ask about that subject that was most painful to him.

"I don't want to know why," Diederich told him.

"Our father locked me in the cellar and beat me on a near daily basis. Why do you think I had these scars on my back? They are no accident. It was a whip that did that, I'm sure you could have figured out that much."

"Vincent, I-"

"You didn't wish to think of me as being a person other than a spoiled earl? Well, there you have it. I was abused and raped, and without Frances I would have died. I wish to replace her with you, so she could have a normal life that she didn't have as a child. Please find it within yourself despite your obvious privilege to understand that Frances is the only reason why I am still alive. I owe everything I have to that woman, and I will do everything to repay her for the sacrifices made for me, even if I have to repay her with your suffering," Vincent told him. This was all a big speech to tell Diederich to suck it up and deal with the hand fate had given him.

"Even if you had absolutely no scars to remind you of that occasion, you'd cut yourself up just so you make a spectacle of yourself because you love being the center of Vincent's own vulgar parade of selfishness and debauchery. You fail to comprehend the idea that some suffer in silence," Diederich told him. He did not show him a look of sympathy.

"Are mouthing off at me?" Vincent asked him. He was taken back by the cruel insults that Diederich said so bluntly. Any one else would have stumbled them out, or spat them one unintelligent syllable after another, in vague attempts to capture Vincent's hatred. But he was simply being his same grumpy self, having no discernible or interesting emotional state of unrest that Vincent could be amused at. He was not mentally damaged like Vincent, and lacked his absence of morals. He just simply had no reason to feign kindness or to be inordinately cruel. When Vincent told Rachel of this, she hugged him. Diederich only looked at him with the same blank stare of disbelief and mild discomfort. He did not feel sorry for Vincent at all, he only felt sorry for himself for having to be here.

"It's okay, I forgive you for making fun of my mole," Vincent said, patting Diederich on the shoulder. Diederich sighed and walked off some where, presumably to eat or sleep and Vincent really didn't care which of those things he was about to do because he himself was hungry. Vincent himself headed off to his library to grab a book, so that he could have some sort of company in his smoking room.

Vincent, Rachel and Diederich were sitting in the dining room of the manor for dinner. The large table had been replaced with a small round table so that they could all converse with each other better, though in reality Rachel and Vincent would probably just gossip while Diederich silently ate. The centerpiece was a rustic looking straw basket filled with white and lavender roses that Rachel had ordered. Tonight's dinner consisted of cornish game hens, tiny hens served individually and stuffed with stuffing. These were served with smashed potatoes. For dinner, a chocolate mousse cake and french macarons were prepared. Rachel was wearing a rather fancy blue gown that she had worn to her outing with Angelina. Angelina and Frances were both too busy to attend dinner tonight. Frances was still on her supervised outing with Alexis, and Angelina was studying. That left Rachel by herself to supervise the two failure detectives.

"Rachel why is he so horrid?" Diederich asked Rachel, pointing at Vincent, who sat next to him. He had all of the social graces of a drunk flamingo trying to walk on stilts. At least his dinner habits were polite for a man that surely must have eaten his entire weight in foods over the course of a day.

"He's the nicest man I've ever met," she said with a unladylike shrug and a smile. Vincent took a chocolate macaron and bit into it, staring at Diederich with a silent threat.

"We are talking about Vincent, right? Because I think both you and I know that he is evil," Diederich told her. Rachel sighed and smiled and put on an innocent look that anyone could guess was fake. She wasn't a good actress. Vincent was looking at Diederich like he was going to take out the knife they all knew he had hidden in the sleeve of his jacket and stab Diederich with it. He took a sip of brandy to wash down the macaron.

"He's not evil he just has a really weird way of showing how much he cares about you. Also, you might as well not even lock the door at night because he has a master key," Rachel told him. She had a very sweet and comforting voice that was almost melodial, but she said such awful things in it that even her calm demeanor couldn't make them sound less threatening. She after all, had nothing to worry about Vincent breaking into her bed at night because they shared a bedroom.

"Why do you both insist on saying such perverted things to me?"

"Because I am a homosexual," Vincent told him in a straight forward manner. He had no problem in saying this, it was no different as if he were announcing that he has grey hair, brown eyes, or a brilliantly placed mole on his face. It was obvious to him as it was any part of his being, it was just that the rest of society hadn't yet caught up to his enlightenment and so, he said these words very rarely. For even though to him, they meant nothing special, but to a court of law it went so that they could send him to the gallows if he said this.

"You're not half as funny as you think you are," Diederich practically hissed at him. He was visibly upset, but he said nothing of his personal anti-gay agenda, no talk of the bible, hellfire or brimstone. He seemed as though he thought Vincent was joking, as if even the idea of him gay was so perverse and obscene, that he could only utter those words as some kind of sick joke.

"No, I am serious."

"That's it, I'm going home," Diederich said. He stood up, and was ready to leave. Vincent waved a fat white envelope held together with the queen's red seal on it in his direction.

"Come now, Dee. I haven't even paid you yet. Don't you want to get paid? After all, a faggot's money is still legal tender." Vincent said. Diederich sat back down, and it didn't take much more than that to get him listening. So typical of humanity, isn't it. Rachel giggled to herself over something she thought was funny but did not say anything.

"I thought this was a forced job?" Diederich asked, his tone seemed like he cheering up, if just a little. As if there could be some sort of cheer or happiness or excitement underneath his heavy layers of hatred, contempt, and discomfort. Was Diederich really a three dimensional character, was there more to him than constant two dimensional grumpiness? Money- it's the universal miracle worker.

"Nah, I'm compensating you with ten percent of my pay, but if you want a forced job, I can give you one later," Vincent said. He ruffled the contents of the envelope and handed a large amount of bills to Diederich.

"This is a lot of money," Diederich said, looking down at the money in his hands as if it were christmas in the summer. His eyes widened in delight, as if all this made putting up with Vincent totally worth it.

"God bless the crown's money laundering," Vincent said. He passed the envelope to Rachel.

"I won't go to prison for this, will I?" Diederich asked, but he did not hesitate to pull out his wallet, put the money in his wallet, and then placed the wallet back into the pocket of his jacket. It was his. He accepted money for doing a terrible deed, and he didn't make a move to leave the room. He was, as far as Vincent was concerned, here to stay.

"Hell no, this is all hush hush bribe money. I mean everyone on the streets knows about the Phantomhives but technically my job is supposed to be a secret so I get paid out of the pool of money reserved for random awards even though I get a regular salary. You should see how much money I get when I actually kill someone," Vincent bragged.

"Your perverse attitudes truly have no limit," Diederich said. He said it with contempt, but he did not shy away from the prospect of the money.

"Don't hide away, you know you like the feeling. The thrill of knowing that you can get away with murder. The thrill of getting paid to be horrible. It feels nice to a boy who's never broken a rule in his life, doesn't it?" Vincent asked. He leaned closer to Diederich, who did not really move away, or show any sign of being affected by this question. Vincent scanned him for any slights of dishonesty, but his body language was as clean and virgin as his mind, apparently. It was no fun to do a cold reading on him. Many people lied or squirmed when Vincent looked at them like this. He was rather threatening, even though he had a sweet face, his eyes were cold and intimidating, even those who did not take him seriously were at least a little bit unnerved by him. Diederich just sort of put on a grumpy face that was actually kind of cute and endearing. He was cute, no adorable, when he was angry.

"No, actually, it does not pleasure me at all, but I will enjoy the money regardless," Diederich told him. It was hardly a question for him at all. He shot Vincent's little theory down, he really was in it to fulfill a promise and he did like the money. He was, after all, such a painfully normal young man. Vincent could not judge him for this, after all, he doubted very highly that his assistant was born into a family of killers, or a family that locked him in a closet and beat him. He was just so normal, that Vincent could not help but wonder why he was so glum, there had to be a reason for it, and if not a lack of normality or moral rationale, then what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Vincent's favorite color isn't purple, but it's Rachel's favorite and she has to share that bedroom with him, so y'know, might as well please the woman in one way since he's obviously not pleasing her in the other. :) 90% of the decor in the manor was picked out by Frances or Rachel. Mostly Rachel, though, since Frances will eventually move out and Rachel is stuck with Vincent forever. She's such a nice woman. Gosh I love Rachel. I just love all the female characters of Kuro so much. 
> 
> Dee is hard man to break. He's always so cold, even when he's showing emotion. Maybe Vincent likes him because the idea of breaking apart the secret fears a man like Diederich who is always so guarded is the appeal? And what happens after? Or maybe Vincent just likes him because Diederich is a total hottie, even when he's so grumpy?


	14. Lust So Sweet It Burns My Tongue To Touch

"What's in the box?" Diederich asked. Vincent had called him over this afternoon from his place of residence in London, and he looked like he was disappointed at the sight of the box.

"Undeveloped negatives for the case," Vincent explained, "They don't just sent me photographs in the post where any postal worker could open them, they send the undeveloped negatives so if some idiot opens it, they'll expose them and ruin the photos. Then I develop the photographs in my own dark room so there isn't a security breech."

"And you want me to do this for you?" Diederich asked.

"Of course, you're my assistant. I'm not paying you to insult me and eat all of my food, now come along, pet. Time to develop some photographs," Vincent said. Diederich glared back at him for the irritating literal 'pet' name and Vincent said nothing in reply.

The dark room was a dark room, as would be the purpose of the room in the first place. Vincent lit an amber lantern in the room that illuminated it with a soft light. The dark room was really more like a dark glorified closet and both of them could hardly fit comfortably in the confines of the room with all of the dark equipment. A row of sinks lined one wall, the other wall had lines of twin and clothes pins holding up photographs of various unsavory images, mostly of dead bodies and fetid gore. A few sane pictures of Frances, Rachel and various english landscapes could also be seen. There was a great dissonance between the types of photos here, and it couldn't be helped. Tere really wasn't any sense in having two dark rooms. A small table in the center room had some various piles of cluttered items and boxes held below it for storage.

"I like photography, it's a fun hobby," Vincent said.

"Right," Diederich said, taking a second glace at the murder photographs.

"Put this in the far left sink," Vincent said, taking a black ceramic box out of the larger black box and handing it to Diederich, "that will prevent the film from over exposure when we take them out," he said. Diederich placed the black box into the chemical solution and looked over it. The fumes immediately made him cough and weeze.

"Try not to breathe it in," Vincent said as he took out some thick papers. He was covering his mouth with one hand as he painted clear chemical over the papers using a wide paintbrush with the other hand. He covered the papers with a heavy black cloth.

"Take out the box and rinse it in the middle sink," Vincent told Diderich as he set up some unlit lanterns on the table.

"I was told that up north near the scottish border, quite a few farmers that produce some of the finest wool have perished and their livestock had been slaughtered in mass. They think that due to the brutality of the murders, that simply isn't a wild animal, but perhaps the actions of a rival farmer trying to ruin their business. This was cemented as the working theory, as they found one of the shepards himself stabbed to death in the same manner after he went on a paranoid rampage earlier in the week prior to his murder."

Vincent then took the box from the sink and pulled out the glass negative slides, carefully waving them in the air to dry the delicate plates. He set the glass plate in a holder in front of an amber lantern. He then took a piece of the thick paper and set it in a metal frame in front of the plate. An amber silhouette of the image could seen on the paper. Vincent lifted the amber light shade, and exposed the paper for five seconds before recovering the lantern. He carried the paper over to a sink on the far right of the room and held it under the chemical solution for a few seconds. Diederich looked over his shoulder and watched the image appear on the paper. Vincent rinsed off the photo and hung it up on the twin twin with some clothes pins before moving onto the next photograph. Diederich watched him with some sort of weird excitement and looked at the pictures that Vincent was sent, mostly of woods in what appeared to be northern england.

"No," Diederich said.

"What?" Vincent asked, looking over his shoulder. Diederich had a finger tip pressed to the photograph. He was clearly bothered by something, though Vincent couldn't see just what was so damned weird about a bunch of dead sheep and one dead guy. It was so boring that he was starting to think that this case was Queen Victoria's punishment for Vincent letting Druitt get a slap on the wrists warning instead of capital punishment.

The foreground was a pasture full of murdered sheep, with circular stab wounds puncturing their bodies in weird places. Their white hides were stained with what could be assumed as blood, as thought they had been impaled and stabbed time and time again. In the shadow of the treeline, barely visible, was a sort of black, vaguely humanoid shape. It was was surrounded by tendrils that didn't match up with what the normal shapes of tree branches, and had nothing more than a white, featureless sphere for a 'head'. Vincent looked at the other pictures as his silent assistant said nothing and shook with fear. He was wrought with excitement. Maybe this certain possibility of interest would be fun. And if it got Diederich scared, how fun it would be for Vincent watch him break down! In the next, a different angle of what could be assumed the same pasture. In the background the same anomalous shape was in the shadow of the tree line. In the next picture, a shepard lie next to his slaughtered livestock, stabbed through with the same large wounds. In every picture, no matter the location, the same shape could be seen in the background.

"Well, you don't see that every day do you, Dee?"

"No," he said, his tone of voice was hollow and shaky. Vincent did not care to question this. The door bell rang.

"Oh look, we have a guest," Vincent said, hearing the door bell ring for a second time.

"Delivery for my favorite Earl~" Lau said at the door, holding up a fancy brocade luggage thing. He and Vincent both shared a smile of anticipatory glee at the illicit goodies that it surely must have contained.

"How has life been, friend?" Vincent asked.

"Oh you know the trading business, never a dull day. My sister Ran Mao came with me as well," Lau said, pointing to a short chinese girl with pointy little buns. She wore a scandalously short dress and had pale skin that was just barely highlighted with red blusher on her cheeks and under her eyes. Vincent took out a large sum of cash from the pocket of his jacket and handed it to Lau. Lau handed it to Ran Mao, who stashed it in the tight bodice of her dress.

"You should stay and get high with us," Vincent told Lau.

"Sorry, no can do. I have plenty more deliveries to make."

"If you're doing the deliveries yourself, they must be important clients. Who is doing the ordering?" Vincent asked.

"I can't tell you that, my deliveries are strictly confidential."

"A pox on you."

"A million poxes on me, Vincent. Now if you don't mind, I will leave you alone with your beautiful assistant, I hope you two naughty boys enjoy yourselves," Lau said, before walking off to his carriage with Ran Mao.

"Did he just call me beautiful?" Diederich asked Vincent, who nodded and closed the door quickly.

"Why do people keep calling me such things?"

"If you're not looking at yourself and thinking 'wow look at that handsome man, I'd really like to bend him over and nail him ten ways until dawn', I really don't know whats wrong with you."

"You say the most vile perverted things I have ever heard any one say."

"You should see Rachel when she's drunk," Vincent said. Rachel made him sound like an innocent blushing bride. He wasn't sure where she got those ideas, but if Rachel were to ever get into writing erotica, Vincent would buy all of her books.

Vincent headed over to his favorite location for smoking, his aptly named smoking room. It was the perfect room in which to smoke at the entire room had the constant sharp smell of tobacco smoke to it. It was a small room, no larger than the parlor. It was decorated with a decidedly comfortable english feel, like that of an old english camp or retreat. The furniture was plush velvet, The absence of windows combined with the red shades put over lanterns gave the entire room a comfortable warm glow. A glass cabinet made of a dark stained hardwood help Vincent's collection of various smoking apparatuses. Hookahs, pipes, chillums, bongs, lighters, rolling papers. The wooden drawers underneath the display case held his expansive 'collection' (or perhaps calling it a 'stash' would be more accurate) of imported cigars, cigarettes, joints and almost anything else that could be purchased legally or illegally within the queen's great empire. Diederich followed him like a puppy into the room, and looked at his vast hoarde of merriment fulfillment devices with a frown.

"What?" Vincent asked.

"This seems immoral to me," Diederich complained.

"Yes, because everything you've witnessed me doing since we've started working together has been completely and totally ethical. Now come sit down and get high with me," Vincent said getting out the glass pipe for his opium. It was dark purple with blue and green swirls in the glass work.

"What?"

"You're always so uptight, I want to see you smile for once in your life," Vincent told him.

"It's not going to hurt you. Rachel does this all the time, and she's fine," Vincent said taking out the crystallized poppy juice that was the pure opium, straight from the butterfly king himself.

"Are you implying my reluctance is because I am overly effeminate?" Diederich asked him.

"No I was referring to the fact that she has asthma, but now I'm implying that you're really insecure. And you know what will make you feel less insecure? Opium." Vincent packed the opium into the pipe and held a lit match to the opium. It burned sweetly in the bowl as Vincent inhaled the smoke into his lungs, held it, and let it out. It soothed it's own burning sensation. It was love vaporized in a smoke, it instantly filled him with happy feelings like warm sunny days in a field of poppies, laying in the grass, watching butterflies fly over head in the clear blue sky.

"Here you go, beautiful," Vincent said, handing him the pipe. Diederich lifted the pipe, his hands still shaking from the fright he experienced earlier. He inhaled the sweet, dense smoke of the opium. It was clearly hitting him hard, his hands stopped shaking and he seemed to be a bit in higher spirits, if you will. They took hits and passed the pipe between them a few times, the opium smoke quickly filled the room.

"Soo... what is that secret of yours?" Vincent said. Diederich was so high right now. Vincent was also high but he still had some semblance of a functioning mind left to him. Diederich was off in the clouds. He and the poppy had become one, and that is why he currently had all the mental functions of an actual goddamn poppy plant.

"I can't tell anyone..."

"I guess that's why it's a secret."

"I don't know why I'm like this. My parents are nice people. I just don't see them. Nothing bads ever happened to me so I don't why I am always sad," Diderich said. Vincent handed him the pipe. He wanted to mine him for information that he could use to blackmail him later. That would be useful. Smoking is always useful but this would be extra useful.

"You're such a fascinating guy," Vincent said before laughing uncontrollably. Diederich joined him in this, even though neither of them could even place what was just so funny about the situation. They were high. Being alive was the joke.

"I don't want to die. I just want to feel like this forever," Diederich said, barely able to keep himself awake. He could hardly remain sitting up. He was leaning on Vincent. He was getting closer to Vincent and got rid of any remaining distance between the two of them by kissing on the mouth. Vincent was taken back by this sudden feeling of intimacy, but he wasn't about to say no or pull away from him.

"But about that secret," Vincent said. He was still trying to mine him for glorious, blackmailable information. Vincent took another hit of the opium and held it in his mouth. Vincent grabbed Diederich by the jaw and pressed his lips to his, blowing the smoke in his mouth.

"What about it?" Diederich was now somewhere in his arms. His body was useless and heavy. Vincent was nearly as useless and heavy and Diederich was now using him as a human pillow because his muscles could no longer receive signals from his slowed down brain. He was just a big cuddly pile of, whatever was left of him when his mind was off in la-la land. They rolled off the couch and onto the floor in a heap of laughter and bruises that would hurt tomorrow.

"You're getting really handsy," Vincent said as Diederich wrapped his arms around him and cuddled close to him.

"I don't know where my hands are. I can't feel my hands, Vincent."

"I can feel them," Vincent said. Diederich's hands were all over him; he was really feeling them. They kissed again, this time without opium and with tongue.

"Oh good. I was worried I might have lost them."

"You're falling asleep on me," Vincent said. He was literally functioning at a human teddy bear. He didn't mind it, but he didn't go into this whole plot to end up being cuddle toy for a guy who hates his guts.

"You're nice and warm."

"You're incredibly intoxicated," Vincent said.

"Sometimes I feel like there's something wrong with me, but now I don't."

"I think... I don't know. I don't know," Vincent laughed. He could no longer form coherent sentences, and the silent, mumbling of the sleeping man cuddled up to him was only an invitation for him to fall asleep as well. His mind was gone. His coherency was gone. He had no reason to stay awake. He'd deal with the case tomorrow. His brain had finally hit vegetable. It was time to go to sleep.

Rachel had wondered where Vincent and Diederich had gone off to. She had arrived at the manor quite late at night, but Vincent was almost always up at this hour. They were somewhere in the household. Tanaka and Frances were not home. She knew that today Diederich was coming over to help Vincent with something. She also knew that Vincent wasn't about to lie to her when he was already so honest about the long list of affairs he had already committed, even though they weren't even married yet. The search for Vincent Phantomhive started in the library of the manor, then his and Rachel's bedroom, then the parlor, then the lounge, then the kitchen (Rachel guessed there was a good chance Diederich would be there), and this search when on for quite some time, given the largeness of the manor. It was there in the smoking room that she saw the two men passed out, huddled together on the floor in a mass of cuddles. The smell of opium smoke pervaded the entire room and it wasn't too difficult for Rachel to figure out what sort of debauchery had taken place here.

She wasn't at all tired, and she wanted to get into a bit of mischief herself. Rachel went down to the room where Vincent put all of his photography equipment and prepared the camera. She then took the camera up to the smoking room and put the focus on the two men which were still completely sound asleep and passed out. Rachel figured they would be until morning, and that there was no harm for her to do a little black mail photography. She had set off the flash and exposed the film to the sight of them. If Diederich thought that Vincent was evil, then well, he should have considered that a woman who would marry him despite all of his evil, was also just a little bit evil herself. Rachel snickered to herself in the dark room as she developed the picture. It came out a little dark, but hey, she wasn't Vincent and it was clear as day that who it was in the photograph and that was good enough for her purposes.

"I feel so sick," Vincent lamented over a cup of strong black tea. He was nauseous, with dark bags under his eyes. His skin was sallow and he was clearly feeling the hangover after spending the entirety of an afternoon and night smoking opium.

"I feel wonderful!" Rachel beamed, "And how do you feel, Dee?" she asked Diederich. He also looked tired, like he had come out of a long sleepless night of horrible dreams.

"Last night was full of nightmarish visions and dark dreams that will forever torment my mind, so I feel much better now that I'm awake."

"Were those nightmares before or after you made out with my fiance?" Rachel asked him, holding up the photograph.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I've never smoked opium but after research I have learned that opium makes you super high, and also a lot of people report having intense feelings of love general cuddlyness. Back in the day a lot of drugs that are now pointlessly vilified were legal and frequently used. Opium was totally legal. I can see Vincent as a guy who likes to smoke. This brings to mind that two pager VincentXSebastian doujin that pink kitten did and well, you know what I'm talkin' about, people who know that I'm talking about.
> 
> The chapter title is taken from the poem "barbara" by shortaxel on deviantart. She's one of my favorite artists on DA and I've been following her artwork for years, so I know what I'm talkin' about when I say that she is amazing and that you will love yourself for making the decision to look at her work. Promise.


	15. A Fleeting Moment With Death

"So..." Vincent said, breaking the silence between them.

He was once again in a carriage stuck with the world champion of complaining. Who, was oddly silent for once in his life and was reading a book. This would have been great if there wasn't an element of hatred to it. Before when he was constantly complaining and wouldn't shut the hell up if his life depended on it, he in the very least felt comfortable enough with Vincent to say something. Now he was silent like a hurt animal that been driven into a corner by a hungry lion, and Vincent wasn't in the mood to be the lion. He wanted Diederich to stop looking up at him sheepishly, as if he was expecting Vincent to sexually assault him. Usually when young men were offended by Vincent's advances (though to be fair, Vincent didn't actually initiate it this time) they ran away in the opposite direction, but Diederich was more or less forced to be around him. Vincent assumed the only reason why he was still on the floor of the smoking room that morning was because he was hungover, and the only reason why he was going with Vincent to London was presumably because he liked the gross amount of money he was getting paid for being useless.

"I want to forget it, I literally never ever want to talk about it or think about it, or remember it. I wish for it to have never happened," he explained. He surely was not trying to come off as insulting, but there he was, making Vincent fume. Vincent was not sure if he was more offended by the fact that Diederich acted as thought his lips were as unpleasant as the poison covered mouth of a king cobra, or the fact that Diederich acted as though even thinking about the act of homosexuality was the offense itself and not just because it was Vincent. He was one explanation about jesus christ away from getting kicked out of the moving carriage.

"You had a gay experience, you'll survive it! My entire life has been one eighteen year long gay experience and for better or worse I have survived it," Vincent told him. He seemed only more put off by this, as though he was immediately ashamed by the very idea of someone being so brazen about this very taboo subject. Vincent was even more embarrassed for Diederich's needless embarrassment, and so he wanted to torment him about it some more later.

"You..."

"Can kiss me again, that's how I'd like this conversation to end. But you're still...Oh to hell with it. Let's just visit this creepy Undertaker instead, because I'm sure you find a corpse to be a more desirable conversation partner than myself," Vincent said. On his way out of the carriage, he slammed the door in Diederich's face. He could remind him that he was the one who did the kissing first later.

The undertaker who handled the bodies from the village was touted as 'the best undertaker in London'. Vincent wasn't exactly sure how they judged the qualifications of that sort of thing, since his business was in making corpses instead of dressing them up. The building was a tiny building with a large, garish sign that said 'Undertaker' on it, which is probably the least subtle way to denote a funeral parlor that Vincent had ever seen. Most funeral homes had a touch of class, this was a plain brick building whose entire budget must have surely been put into that gaudy sign. It looked like a shit hole, and if this was the best undertaker in London, then Vincent was the best detective in the entire country and he knew that wasn't true. Sure he was one of the best but he was still conquered by chloroform and his rampant, uncontrollable hedonism. In the window was a display of skeletons and old, dusty, rusted out lab utensils. As if this were some kind of trendy clothing shop for the chronically morbid. He shared another awkward glance with his assistant, as if they were daring each other to open the door first.

"Open the fucking door," Vincent hissed at Diederich, who sighed and opened it.

"Well, hello, hello~" sang a tall man with long silver hair, his voice was deep with a guttural, raspy tone. Vincent immediately noticed the scar around his neck. He was sitting on a coffin in the room, drinking tea out of a beaker and using another coffin as a coffee table. It smelled like earl grey and formaldehyde. The entire room was dusty and covered with cobwebs, the other decorations were wrought iron candelabras, skeletons, beakers of unmarked liquids, jars full of preserved body parts, and coffins, some of which were made into furniture. Crafty, but also creepy. He stood up and walked over to them, the heels of his shoes clicked on the warped wooden floor and he reached out a hand with long black talons. Vincent shook his hand, it was cold and clammy.

"You smell like opium and poor decisions," Undertaker said to the two men.

"Mind your own bloody business," Vincent said. Diederich remained in his silent state, for if he weren't already disturbed by his gay experience and subsequent awkward conversation about that gay experience, he was certainly disturbed by this place of business.

"I charge extra for disposing of the corpses of prostitutes."

"Because it's harder to wash out blood after it's mixed with semen?" Vincent asked.

"No," Undertaker said with a frown, shaking his head. He looked too young in what could be seen of his face to dismiss Vincent as a wayward youth.

"We're actually here to look at a dead body," Vincent explained. Undertaker looked at him with a very, very concerned expression. It was too early in the morning for him to be dealing with weirdos. "We're detectives," Vincent added in.

"I'm sure you are," Undertaker said. A tiny bit of inhumanly vibrant green eye could be seen through his thick silver fringe.

"I am Earl Vincent Phantomhive and this is my assistant, Diederich Von Wolf, and we are investigating a case in which a shepard was killed mysteriously and we are here to inspect the body in order to determine what the cause of death was," Vincent said.

"I am Undertaker, and this way~" he seemed much less uncomfortable.

"And what is your name?" Vincent asked.

"Undertaker."

"I'm serious," Vincent said. He tried getting close to Undertaker, to take a peek under his thick fringe but Undertaker backed away from him.

"I'm seriously Undertaker," he said with a smirk and Vincent sighed.

"Now, now. Before you see the goods, I get the payment," Undertaker told them. Vincent had a hand in the pocket of his jacket but Undertaker grabbed his wrist and pulled it out of his pocket, smacking Vincent lightly on the hand.

"No, no. Not that kind of payment. Your money is no good here," Undertaker told told them. Vincent stepped closer to Undertaker and wrapped one arm around his waist and took him by a thin bony wrist, pulling him closer. Vincent kissed him gently and passionately, as if this was wedding day and Undertaker was a blushing bride. Undertaker frowned and pushed him away. Vincent let go of the silver man and started laughing at his reaction. Diederich turned red and tried to stammered out something, but just looked humiliated and perhaps, maybe, a little bit jealous.

"Okay, no. No. No, that is not acceptable payment...the fuck is my whiskey when I need it..." Undertaker said. On a shelf was several identical bottles of suspicious brown liquid one of which he downed without thinking, rustling it in between his teeth before swallow.

"What I need from you boys is a laugh, and also for Vincent to not touch me."

"I also need that but sometimes we don't get what we want," Diederich said, he already had a pistol pulled out, the tip of which was pressed against Undertaker's temple. Undertaker reached up, and though his hands looked fragile and almost dainty in their lack of muscle and structure of skin stretched across bone, he bent the metal barrel of the gun upwards in a ninety degree angle. Diederich looked at his gun, both he and Vincent were left speechless as Undertaker laughed in their faces.

"Alright, alright. I'll show you silly mortal boys the goods~" he said, untying the grey sash as if he were getting undressed, he looked up at them. Both of them looked horrified.

"Joking!" he said, laughing again. He approached a metal cot where a tarp was pulled over what could be deduced as being a human body. He lifted the tarp to reveal the corpse of the shepard, still covered with holes and stab wounds. Vincent snapped a glove on his hand and poked at one of the holes. They were gaping, round holes, like the victim had been impaled many times with a long, tapered metal thing. As if they'd gotten on the wrong side of Vlad Tepes, if you will.

"This doesn't look like a typical stab wound," Vincent said.

"Correct~! Now, what do you think made something like that, hmm?" Undertaker quizzed him, a grin on his face.

"Well I don't know, it looks rather gruesome. I doubt anyone could have caused this much tissue damage without being heard. This looks like something that would need to be set up quite elaborately."

"Then that's where you shall go! Now go on, go do your detective thing, and leave my shop. I do think we'll be seeing each other again very, very soon."

"Well, you heard the man, Diederich. To whatever backwater hell hole village this man came from, we shall go!"

"Of course," Diederich agreed with a grumble.

"Do try to look more enthusiastic, you're really killing the ambiance in the room. The victim is more lively than you are," Vincent said, leisurely patting the battered and maimed leg of the corpse. He took off the glove and threw it in a trash bin, acting like a wayward dandy even though he was just as tired as irritated as his companion.

"I really don't care," Diederich told him as they left the Undertaker's grim little shop in London and headed off for even grimmer pastures still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like writing Undertaker as somehow meeting Vincent for the first time and being totally creeped out by him. Literally everyone who directly refers to their memories of Vincent through flash back (Baron Kelvin, Madame Red, Alexis Midford) tends to think of him very positively! In fact if we went by what they say, Vincent was a really nice guy... but Diederich says outright that Vincent has a nasty personality. So it's a little hard to write Vincent because even though the entire fandom swears he's evil. we have never once seen him do anything that was evil, (I don't think tricking Dee is evil, it's shenanigans) and we've only ever seen Vincent treating everyone with kindness (except Diederich but he kinda' started it). So I wanted to write Undertaker as someone who would be like, "Yeah I knew that guy, he was a real queer one, I've got some stories about that guy..."


	16. Cinders

"If you wouldn't mind, I have to make a stop before we depart London," Diederich said.

"To where?" Vincent sighed and put on an attitude, because he was stuck in the carriage with this man who pissed him off and they'd be stuck together for days

"My apartment. I need to get my things set up before we leave, I'd rather not leave it without taking care of some things and paying the maid," Diederich explained.

"You have an apartment?" Vincent asked.

"Where do you think I've been living? I haven't been back to my parent's home in four years," Diederich said.

"I assumed you went back home for the vacations."

"My family doesn't want me near them. They would rather that I stay in England for the rest of my life."

"Don't feel bad, I murdered my father, and I laughed in his face as I watched him die," Vincent said this with a smile that he knew only made the situation more uncomfortable. He could tell that Diederich was taking that comment seriously. If it made him afraid, that would just make it so much more fun.

The building itself was unsurprisingly within walking distance from Vincent's old hideout, Weston, near public gardens, lush greenery and tall iron gates. His apartment was a cluttered man cave with a single floor, one bedroom but still with a spacious kitchen he probably didn't use and furniture that looked like it had never seen a single guest. It was dark and even as Diederich turned on the lights it still dark and dreary thanks to the dark red painted walls, dark colored furniture and well, dark colored everything else. It looked mostly like he had used this to store things when he was gone from school, there were some assorted guns lined up by the fire place, and some sword were held in a rack above that. A bow and arrow were leaning against the door to the kitchen. It didn't look like he bothered to clean up, probably because he didn't seem like the kind of person who would bring anyone home. He had nobody to impress, and so, there was a lack of any decor or decorum to be found. The only thing that was not dark was the gray cat fur that covered every possible surface. If Diederich wasn't spending too much time here, then someone else was and that someone had a great deal of shedding to do. Vincent's eyes started to water and he knew, then and there that he had a cat.

"Hello Faust," Diederich greeted a massive gray maine coon cat by scratching him behind the ears. It meowed at him softly and dropped a little, dead brown mouse at his feet. Diederich picked up the cat and gave him a hug. He held the fat cat like a mother would a child. This is the first time Vincent had seen him show anything a single bit of affection without needing to be drugged first.

"Well, aren't you just a cute little hunter?" he asked Faust as he purred loudly. It was clear that Didderich and Faust were two young men deeply and devotedly in love. Vincent let out a loud sound like a cross between a cough, sneeze, and a wheeze.

"I'm allergic to cats," Vincent coughed, before leaving the apartment. He waited outside by the door. Normally there would be no keeping Vincent out of the apartment. Now that he knew where Dee lived, he could bother him any time he wanted. Pick the lock to the door, come in through the bedroom window if he wanted to spice up the night. But not with that big, poof ball monster of a cat. The apartment was officially Vincent-proofed. Damn you, Faust, you adorable fluffy bastard.

Vincent stopped by his town house and got the things he would need for his little investigation. He retrieved a few books from him collection of favorites to read on the long carriage ride to a tiny little town in northern England. He also had Tanaka pack the carriage with the essentials for him to travel. Enough of his favorite tea (silver needle white with chinese chrysanthemum) to supply a tea party the size of a small village, his tea set, three pistols, a ludicrous amounts of ammunition, a rifle, and on his person he concealed seven different stabbing-devices. Two daggers, three switch blades, one sword, and one swiss army knife. While not specifically made for the purpose of stabbing, the swiss army knife could stab someone and do a myriad of other helpful things. It would have been nice to bring Tanaka, but Vincent made a promise to himself that he wouldn't ask him to do such things anymore. He had already done so much, and the unholy honor of putting up with Vincent was now passed on a to a much younger, less agreeable person. One who had also packed a variety of weapons, including for whatever idiotic reason, a large compound bow and enough arrows to take out an entire spartan army.

"Why don't we take this time to get to know each better," Vincent suggested. Maybe getting to know him would make Vincent think of him as having more than one appealing attribute. The singular appealing attribute of him being that he put most classical statues to absolute shame. Dark hair, dark eyes, stoic attitude, he was exactly Vincent's type, his most coveted Mr. Darcy. Handsome and just a little bit rough around the edges, plenty of parts of his that Vincent could smooth out later on. But Vincent knew he didn't like him, and thought him to be a trashy bastard with a worthless title, what a sick joke. It was as if Eros carved him the perfect man but gave him the most unbecoming personality humanly possible just to test how much Vincent could tolerate before his lust was overridden by hatred. Is this divine punishment?

"I'd rather not tell you things I know you'll mock me for later on," Diederich told Vincent, flipping another page in his book.

"Oh come on, I told you that I killed my parents, aren't you just a little bit curious about me?"

"I'll sleep better at night not knowing about all of your sadistic escapades," he said. He was not taking the bait and that only made Vincent even more upset with him.

"Why, are you afraid that I might feel you up in your sleep?"

"Alright let me tell you something about me, I don't think you're being witty or at all charming saying perverse things like that to me and I would like it if you stopped, because you're crossing the line into being hurtful."

"Why are you so offended?" Vincent asked him. He was going to play 'the question game', whether he got audience participation or not.

"You know why I'm offended."

"What? You're too religious?"

"No, because you keep pretending that you have some kind of sick romantic interest in me just to be sarcastic and snide."

"That is not what I am doing. So, is that why are you pissed off at me for no reason, because you mistake my complements about your gorgeous face as insults?"

"No, I also hate you because I hate your carefree attitude, I hate you for your nasty personality that you're only honest about having when nobody you like is looking, I hate you for your abject laziness, I hate you for acting like your worst traits are something to be proud of, and just when I thought that I couldn't hate you anymore, you use the one trait I have that is the only thing I hate more about myself than being alive as a weapon to only add more misery to my life, which according to you, is something that that I have quite the surplus of."

"Yes, but I highly doubt that I'm the reason why you have no friends or lovers," Vincent told him. Diederich was fuming, his face with hate and anger and Vincent was sitting across from him with a smile on his face. He liked to see the most strong willed men crack like antique glass before.

"Why do you even care? What could you possibly gain out of interrogating me about my life?"

"I'm curious and I'm bored, entertain me," Vincent said. He looked happy and just a little bit dreamy. He couldn't tolerate being said no to and for as long as he knew exactly how to melt even the iciest of heart, he never would be.

"I had an older brother, he was the golden child and I always lived in his shadow. My parents always loved him more than they loved me, but I accepted it because I knew that I would never be as smart or as charming as he was. I wished that I could be as shining or as brilliant as he was. I always wanted to be like him, I thought maybe if I try my best my parents would notice me, but they never did. He was always so happy, he was handsome, women flocked to him, he was strong and he was planning on going into the military like our father, but when he was sixteen he started acting up. He always fighting with my parents, coming home late at night, not telling anyone where he went. He was said to be a deviant, he would break the law, drink all the time, be drunk in public and tell off all of the female suitors. Even when he was at his worst, he was still liked more than I was. If I had acted up, I would have been disowned, but he was doted after, they tried so hard to set him right again, because if he had gone missing it's not like they had a decent second child worthy of replacing him.

I was watching him go from a young man who I idolized to a degenerate. Father was at his wit's end with him, he planned to send my brother to an asylum to rehabilitate his deviant behavior. He begged me to distract our parents, and he said that he'd never forgive me if I didn't help him run away. He said he would rather die than to be locked up. I was only thirteen, I didn't quite understand the situation, I didn't know what I could have done to make him stay. I did not do anything to help him run away when we were escorting him to the train station, he jumped in front of a train and I watched him splattered on the train tracks. It didn't kill him, not right away. I watched him twitch as he was nearly torn in half. I saw his organs strewn all over, he looked like a spider with him limbs all bent up and bloodied. I spent an entire year locked up in my bedroom before my parents, I could not bear to leave. I felt like I didn't deserve to live because I could have done something to save him. I am always guilty, because it's my fault that he killed himself. Why should I get to live when he didn't?

I'm not done yet. I spent an entire year locked up in my bedroom, being nothing. I would hardly eat a thing I would sleep all day and do nothing else. I would speak to no one, I was about as useful and charming as a corpse. Everything about me is broken and wrong. My parents were so guilty seeing me suffer that they refused to deal with me. They couldn't bear to look at my sorry state, so they sent me to England so they'd never have to see me or my depressing face ever again. It was a horrid shock going from nothing to constantly having to perform and impress others. I did everything I could do to impress others, I excelled in my studies. I want so badly to be as bright as he was, but I am so hollow and dark that no light can reflect from me. I wanted to be the best at everything, so maybe someone would notice me, but they never did, and they never will. I can't look at myself without seeing my older brother look back at me with a scowl, blaming me for living when I did not do anything noticeable with my life, nor did I deserve to live at all. I am something damnable. I can't handle the guilt, I'm such a coward that even at my best I could never come close to being as good as he was."

Vincent was stunned still, as thought someone had told him that someone he loved had been murdered. He noticed that the book had been put away, that his own had been closed in his hands, his place in the book lost with not even a dog eared corner. He couldn't remember what he was reading in the book or why it mattered to him at all. He could only look at the hollow eyes, and he couldn't look away either, as if he were watching a train wreck. Something horrifying was happening here, but Vincent hadn't yet registered it as more than a morbid fascination in his mind yet. Diederich held out his hand to him and Vincent almost didn't want to know why this was, but he couldn't slay his own constant need to know everything. Vincent had wanted to know everything there could be to know about the dark past that lay hidden under a layer of depression and normalcy, but now he was almost afraid to know just how far it went. He pulled up the cuff of his white shirt sleeve to reveal his lower arm. Vincent wasn't sure why he expected to see anything different from the large, jagged scar that went vertically from Diederich's wrist halfway up his forearm.

"Don't you want to call me a spineless coward?"

"No," Vincent said. He kept looking up even though it pained him every time that he did this, because clearly he must have been in a masochistic mood today. He bent down and kissed the jagged scar.

"I'm sorry," Vincent said as he pulled away.

"You just can't keep your perverted lips off me, can you?" Diederich said, readjusting the cuff of his sleeve.

"I'm not a pervert, I'm just honest about my feelings."

"And then you run your mouth off at me again."

"Shut up, you're going to need to take a vacation away from misery island for awhile while we do some detective work," Vincent said, as they were coming close to their destination.

"I do hope you'll join me this time instead of making out with strange men."

"I do hope you'll pay attention instead of eating all the sandwiches."

The town was a dreary little shithole in northern england. Everything about it was run down and looked like it was coated in a thin layer of gray ash and grime. The streets were made out of dirt and cracked cobblestones, the gutters were lined with trash and other assorted wastes. It was a good idea to not ask what you were stepping in. It was a city in decay, there had clearly not been adequate repairs done to a single building in years. Nails stuck out of shutters, windows were boarded up haphazardly, letting the cold air roam freely through the buildings. The people looked gray, distressed and dirty. It wasn't even close to being autumn and yet all of the vegetation looked like it was wilting and on the verge of crumbling into another layer of gray dust. The carriage dropped them off and tossed their lugged unto the grimy roadside by the awful little village. They looked like they were in a hurry to be far, far, away for this awful place.

"This looks a like a nice place, doesn't it?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never met a person that hated themselves and actually had a legitimate or logical reason to feel that way. Ever.


	17. Unfair Business Practices

"Here you go," Vincent said, handing off his suitcase to Diederich. Clearly, there would be no service in this awful little hell hole, so he would have to do everything.

"You two must be the detectives," a woman said, approaching the two of them. She wore all black old mourning clothes that were faded to more of a charcoal grey color, and she had fiery red hair and bright green eyes, which seemed to be the only colorful thing in the general vicinity.

"And how would you know that?" Vincent asked her.

"Well, you certainly do not look like you come from around here," she explained. This was true. Vincent and Diederich both wore well tailored suit of the metropolitan kind. These were not the typical fashion of men that had any work to do, though Vincent didn't like the idea of idea being put into the same fashion category as Diederich. His gloomy assistant wore somber colors of a decided predictable and boring color scheme, as where Vincent liked to dress it up with some tweed and interesting colors like crimson or sapphire to match his jewelry. He looked flashy yet sophisticated, like a true proper gentleman, yet not so dandy that he looked like a certain blonde-haired fool.

"I am Aileen Breckinridge. It's so great to meet you, I heard that you were a among the best in the country," she said, her eyes were getting teary. She waved them closer to her, trying to smile and be friendly towards them even though her eyes were full of pain.

"Come you two, I have a guest cabin near the farm where you two can stay and we can speak more freely at the farm house," Aileen said, despite the sadness evident in her, she seemed warm and friendly. Just another normal person who had been caused pain by those who cheat and steal in the less moral parts of society. She wanted to have the pain of her husband's murder put behind her, and Vincent wanted a paycheck from the queen.

Aileen pointed to a mule for Diederich to load the suitcases on, and she led them to a small farm house that was just outside the tiny little intersection of buildings that was the village. There was a tavern, a little inn, an inlet for a market and a few small houses lined up on the dingy little street. They rode in a little raggedy old buggy about two miles to a small house situated in the middle of vast farm lands. Acres and acres of white fluffy sheep were grazing on the grass lands around them, making quiet sheep noises. A few red haired teenagers could be seen tending to the sheep, a stray dog was there laying in the grasslands, keeping an eye out on the sheep. Admittedly, the dog wasn't doing a good job at that, but the queen's watchdog could take over on that duty for awhile. The air was humid and dense, and heavy fog outlined the areas heading towards the tree lines of the thick forests that the fields were cut from. Aileen's little house was set up on a hill, so that she could look out the door and see the full pastures of her family's farm before her. The house itself was small but was still larger ans kept up nicer than the rest of the houses in that area, a clear sign that the former farmer had been receiving more success than his previous rivals in town.

She led them quietly into the living room of her one floor home. There were various little handmade things decorating the home. A few bunches of dried flowers hung from nails that were embedded into the hardwood. A little vase had some little yellow wildflowers in it. A fireplace was burning and gave the room a soft and warm feeling. The couch and chairs were old tapestry furniture, clearly hand down and used by several generations. All of the furniture in the home was rustic and old, and had the feeling that it had been passed down from wedding reception to wedding reception. It looked as though part of the kitchen had been remodeled, but clearly not much else had been done to liven up the place. Perhaps, there didn't need to be any changes made to the little farm house at all. There was a certain homely feeling to the handmade blanket decorating the sitting chair where Aileen sat across from them.

"I know it to be difficult subject, but I need to know everything there was about the circumstances surrounding your husband's passing," Vincent told her.

"It's alright, I know it may be hard now but I know when the culprit behind this is taken into custody that I will finally be able to put all of this behind me and my sons will be able to carry on their father's work without fear of meeting the same fate," she said.

"Did he have any enemies? In cases like this, it is very likely the culprit will be someone out to ruin his business."

"I don't know that he would have any enemies, everyone in town was friendly because it's been so long since business here was good. We were hoping maybe that a successful wool farm would put this little village back on the map. We had a lot of wool output not because he had some secret but because he just worked himself to the bone out there, and I would be carding and spinning just like anyone else. We never did have farm hands, just us and the sons and we would get a lot of people really interested in our wool because we tried really hard. We just wanted to make our farm into a bigger farm, buy more land, start up a real good business with good ethics. He worked all day every day since he was but a babe, we saved every penny to make our farm what it is and just as we were starting to live life just a little bit better and start getting real attention to the area, and someone goes and starts killin' off our sheep," she said, and faltered.

"Who could ever do something so cruel to a man? I never knew a man who cared as much about his family as he did," Aileen told them.

"I'm sorry for your loss, but there are some cruel people in the world, and that is why they sent for me," Vincent said with a deadly sneer that Aileen didn't seem to pick up on. Who better to hurt for cruel men than a soulless man himself.

"Is there anything special that you do on the farm, if you don't mind me asking?" Vincent questioned.

"Not that I know, I just clean the wool real well, I pay a lot of attention to doing things the correct wat and it shows. Now, don't tell anyone I said this but some of the other women in the village well, they have sloppy handiwork and their husbands spend more of their money on liquor than anything else, that is the only reason why our family's farm is doing so well, we prioritize ourselves to get the job done right."

"That sounds like advice you could use Vincent," Diederich said. Vincent glared back at him.

"In any case, I would like to begin our investigation by looking around the local area and setting up a few rigs so that we may be able to photograph the killer in the act. Depending on how it goes on that front, tomorrow night I will track him down and take care of him as needed," Vincent said.

"Well, if you boys would like to set up your things, I can lead you to the guest cabin out back. It's a bit small, but it's cozy and warm now that the wind is getting a bit of a chill during the night," Aileen said, standing up and then opening one of the windows.

"Colin!" Aileen yelled out of the window before closing it.

"Yes mum?" a boy asked. He looked like his mother with short curly red hair, green eyes and freckles dotted across his face and arms.

"Please take the luggage off ol' Barney and guide these two gentleman to the cabin," Aileen told him. Colin nodded politely.

"Yes mum," he said. He whistled and the sad old mule walked over.

"Here we are, you two need anything just grab from the house, mum's got her work to do inside the bar and Jim and I are out in the field," Colin explained as he led them to a small rustic cabin. The cabin was mostly used to house what few guests they had or to be a place for the farmer to watch over the fields at night if he thought something was up. It was across the field from the farm house and was a small singular room set up with a bed, a small table with chairs and a fire place. There was a good sized window in the front of the cabin, so that one could sit at the table and watch the going ons of most of the farm without leaving the warmth of the fire place.

"So what are you going to do?" Diederich asked, getting the suitcases into the room. Vincent got his things out and was already unpacking the items from his suitcase to get everything ready. He wanted to be out of her as soon as possible.

"Well for one, we need to catch some hard evidence of the bugger, so I'm going to rig up some cameras around the perimeter of the place, just don't trip off the wires," Vincent said. He had his equipment, a series of thin filaments not very thick and made up of a clear substance and a series of cameras, already stocked with film and flashes.

"Well, I supposed while you are doing the camera work, I can do some hunting," Diederich explained. He had packed mostly gear meant for the purpose of hunting game, though it really could have also been used to hunt down a criminal if one were feeling particularly cruel.

"Hunting? You're going hunting."

"Absolutely. I brought my archery things," Diederich said, his demeanor was so sincerely upbeat towards this.

"You brought a bow and arrows to go hunting? You brought the most inefficient weapon ever invented to go hunting with?" Vincent asked incredulously. What sort of idiotic ideas did they teach him at Weston? He expected better from a supposed topnotch sportsman. This kind of impractical thinking is not Vincent was paying him for.

"It's not inefficient. It's fun," Diederich insisted. He had his bow out, it was a sort of massive metal contraption that didn't even look like it could fit through the door without some serious fiddling with.

"Whatever you say, Archimades. I'll be over here setting up cameras and using what the rest of the world considers modern equipment," Vincent sighed and waved him away.

Diederich held up the bow and arrow and aimed it at what appeared to be a simple innocent bush a few yards away from where they were standing. The shubbery was just sitting there, minding it's own shrubby business, being a nonsentient plant, and Diederich had his arrow locked on the destination. He drew back the arrow, locking it into position for firing with a quiet click. He let it go and the arrow made a loud swooshing made that made Vincent turn around in surprise at the sudden loud noise. The bow and arrow was also not a very stealthy weapon. The sound of the arrow rustling through the brush, hitting flesh with a thump and a squeak could be heard. Vincent stared at Diederich as he set down the bow and headed over to yonder bush and stuck his hand into the bush and rifle around, looking for something. Vincent expected him to come up with an empty arrow, because really, what sort of idiot shoots an arrow at a poor, innocent shrub that wasn't harming anyone. Diederich pulled out the arrow which had not one, but two large brown rabbits strung on it's length and held it up by the end for Vincent to see.

"The bow is the most inefficient weapon ever invented," he said.

"I don't even know how that's physically possible," Vincent commented staring at the rabbits incredulously.

"It is when you have skill," Diederich said.

"Whatever," Vincent said, rolling his eyes. He didn't like to be proved wrong, but there it was he was getting proved wrong and he was hating it.

"I'm going to go skin this by the cabin," Diederich said. Vincent was still fiddling with the flash powder on his camera.

"Yes. Lovely. Wonderful. Go," Vincent said, no longer paying any attention to him.

He had the filament lines unwound and he was now attaching it to the camera. He could hear Diederich rustle noisily through the brush and trees, and wondered for a second as to whether or not he would ruin the stealthiness of the plan. Vincent flicked the clear filament, it was nice and taught and about five inches above the ground. He did this several more times, so that the entire perimeter around the farm had been circled about with clear filaments and trip wires. Cameras were partially hidden in bushes or next to trees so that it would be difficult to to see them. They could be seen if you looked for them in broad daylight, but at night they would be completely invisible to find unless you knew where Vincent had put them. It was a simple set up, really, the criminal would trip the wire, causing the flash to go off, and the camera would snap a quick photograph. They would be dark but if he had to take the man into a court of law, the evidence would be enough to jail him without question. He had to go tell Diederich of this, just to make sure that the idiot wouldn't go and trip over the lines while he was out using his antiquated hunting devices. Vincent headed back to the cabin, it was starting to get dark outside and they had an entire night of staking out the area.


	18. I Live In Short Breaths

Vincent was walking along the tree line when he heard a loud snapping, like someone was stepping on twigs like an idiot. He looked over and saw nothing, then looked around and saw the two red haired boys busy at work in the opposite direction of the snap sound. It was probably just Diederich stalking more innocent little bunnies. Vincent ignored the random walking sounds as he headed back towards the cabin. The sun was reaching down below the horizon line and the sky was colored in dusty shades of orange and red, which meant that it would soon be time for their nighttime vigil. Outside of the cabin, blood was pooled into a puddle underneath the hanging carcasses of the rabbits. They were tied up by their hind paw with their throats slit and hung from the awning. Vincent looked at it and cringed at the blood that was dripping into a metal bucket, sighing loudly. This was going to be a long night, he already wished for it be over. Diederich was inside of the cabin sitting at the table looking out the window. He looked at Vincent with an odd look on his face, like he was looking over his features, inspecting single quality of him like he was getting introspective over a painting. Vincent looked back at him.

"Why are you staring at me?" Vincent asked.

"I just saw you standing over at the edge of the forest," Diederich told him with absolute sincerity.

"What? Dee, I came around from the right because I went around the area, because I was setting up cameras," Vincent explained. There was no rational reason it could have been Vincent, because he didn't do running and there was no way he would have been able to walk across the wide pasture in a matter of minutes.

"Well please tell me who else would be walking around here if I'm in the cabin," Diederich asked Vincent.

"It's the killer, you idiot. It is the culprit. You are lucky you at least have your looks," Vincent told him. What Diederich should have gone is fire off shots in his direction, and even it didn't hit him, it would have in the very least been able to scare the idiot off. But no, instead of he stared at Vincent with wide, scared eyes.

Vincent got out his tea set and his favorite white tea. He heated the water over the fire and poured it into a ceramic tea pot. It was actually heated far higher than it should have been for the type of tea he was using, but Vincent's tea was always brewed incorrectly. Asking him to prepare any food or drink, no matter how high quality, was an nothing more than an open invitation for him to ruin it. He could taste the difference but it wasn't really the time to care that much, he could always have properly brewed tea when he got home. They would be watching the dim forest from the window all night. He had a book, some candles, and this guy to keep him entertained. He missed Frances If Frances was here, they'd be discussing literature over a game of chess which Vincent had a seventy-five percent chance at losing because she knew all of his moves. Diederich was painfully boring most of the time, and the times where he wasn't boring he was insufferably depressing. Vincent didn't regret that dragging him down into the world of crime would wreck Diederich's life, because it was already in shambles before he had gotten there, the singular trait they had in common.

"I hear someone out there," Diederich said. He was close to the window, nearly pressed up against the cold glass. It was hard to see anything out there at all, just shadows here and there hinting at the landscape. Only a few feet beyond the window were illuminated by the faint glow given off by the fire place.

"I can't guess why," Vincent said. He was quickly growing tiresome of this. He wanted it to be morning so that he could gather the needed evidence, that a short nap and dispose of the criminal. It was so simple but this waiting was driving him up a wall. It was always these stakeouts that he hated the most, because action was easy, action was over with quickly, but this infernal waiting. Frances had packed him some snacks and he was now biding the time away with a lavender cookie to accompany his tea.

"I got a really bad feeling out there today," Diederich said. The tone of his voice sounded nervous.

"Because there's a murderer out there who kills people, but let me remind you there's also a guy in here who kills people and you are going to be next if you don't stop saying stupid things," Vincent threatened him.

"You wouldn't hurt me."

"You can't fathom the things I would do to you," Vincent told him. He looked a mostly indifferent to the threats and that was disappointing to Vincent. He didn't even argue the sexual innuendo. Diederich opened the cabin and reached over for something.

"What are you doing?" Vincent asked him. Diederich was holding the still bleeding carcasses of the rabbits and the metal bucket.

"Skinning the rabbits," he said blankly.

"Do you really have to do that right now? In here?" Vincent asked. There was a bucket and a razor blade involved. They had to sleep in this cabin.

"Yes," he sat at the table and took off his jacket. He held the

"Why do you even know how to do that? Why not just pawn it off on a servant? Why bother?"

"I like to drink the blood," Diederich explained while rolling up the cuffs of his shirt. He had the cut throats held over the bucket and was now gently squeezing the blood out of the rabbit and into the metal bucket. His hands were covered with blood. For someone who supposedly didn't care for violence, he sure had some morbid hobbies.

"And you think the things I do are disturbing," Vincent huffed. He felt uneasy with this brazen and uncultured display of carnage. Sure, he had seen Frances do this same thing before, but it was different this time. Also, Frances (to his knowledge) did not consume the blood of anything, especially animals. Her preferred drink was male tears.

"There's a difference between hunting rabbits and hunting humans, and the blood is good for you," he explained. Diederich reached over to take a cup from Vincent's tea set. He was touching the thin china porcelain with his bloody hands and dipped it into the blood in the bucket. He lifted the bloody cup to his lips and took a swig from it. He chugged down the rest the vile swill without flinching and went for a second cup. Vincent no longer wanted the cookie he was eating.

"Yeah, the rabbit didn't go off and fucking murder an innocent man," Vincent said. He looked away as Diederich finished off the small of luke warm rabbit's blood cut straight from the throat, and set the cup on the table, blood was dripping down the sides of the cup. This Vincent cringe quite visibly, and he was sure that Diederich probably was taking some enjoyment knowing that for once Vincent was the one being made to feel uncomfortable in this situation.

"That's a fabulous way to justify assassination."

"It's not just bloodshed for the sake of bloodshed. When I kill someone, it's actually proving to be part of a greater purpose to protect the average citizen, and if it's not, then it's greater purpose of me not being killed as punishment for insubordination," Vincent told him. He wasn't to stand from snark from a guy who drank blood as an all natural iron supplement.

"And your parents?"

"Retribution is a higher purpose," Vincent said and nonchalantly sipped on his tea. He was both impressed and beguiled by Diederich's attitude but he couldn't let that little fact slip. Diederich picked up the razor and began to skin the rabbit. The skin made quiet little tearing noises that distracted Vincent from his reading. He was too blue-blooded to handle this, and he suspected that Diederich was the odd one out of his noble family that would do things like this. Clearly that cat had quite the influence on him.

A noise was heard outside, something like the sound of flesh hitting flesh. Vincent and Diederich both turned away from their preoccupations and looked out the window. They couldn't see anything within the few lighted feet but they could hear a kind of savage bleats and squeals of a sheep being slaughtered. It put up a struggled and thrashed about, rustling against the tall grasses. They could hear distinct sounds as the sheep was stabbed again, again, and again. It was dying a horrible death, being impaled, run through with some kind of assailant spike. One would do but it would be sitting there in a pool of blood that morning, riddles with dozens of holes, not even killed for the sake of food. Vincent sighed, he knew this couldn't be the work of an animal, no an animal would have given up when the squealing stopped. This just kept going and going. He pressed his face closer to the glass, trying to see something, anything, but saw nothing. The wind was picking up and rustling the leaves of the trees, and everything went silent. No more screams or sounds of blood shed. Diederich put down his half-skinned rabbit and stood up.

"We should go out there," he said, reaching for the pistol Vincent had left laying out. Vincent grabbed him by the wrist, trying to avoid, trying to avoid touching his bloody hand. Diederich looked down at him with a scowl on his face.

"No, we shouldn't. We should stay in here, relax, and collect evidence, just like I said we would," Vincent insisted. He didn't bother with setting up all those cameras and trip wires for no damn reason. The culprit would come back soon, if pattern was to say anything about it. So they had to sacrifice one innocent sheep for the sake of the case, then so be it.

"Stay in here, and for goodness sake, wash your filthy hands," Vincent told him.

"I don't see why you're acting so bothered by my habits, it's not that strange to do," Diederich said.

"Because it's filthy animal blood, you don't know where it's been."

"It's a german tradition," Diderich told Vincent, his expression dead pan. But Vincent hasn't buying it.

"I know thats made up because no sane noble would ever do something so filthy, and I doubt the general populace of germany is full of vampires," Vincent said.

"You're right, it's not. But I'd lie to the underclassmen at Weston and make them do it," Diederich said, smiling. So he did have a sense of humor, but his sense of humor, much like Vincent's was just totally fucked up. Vincent could imagine the young, innocent, gullible boys of Green House being forced to swallow down the vile substance by the tea cup while this beautiful and scary man yelled at them. It made him queasy just thinking about it.

"That is so repulsive, and here people thought I was a tyrant, at least I didn't make them do that," Vincent said.

"What did you make them do?" Diederich asked.

"You don't even want to know," Vincent said. He'd leave it to the imagination.


	19. I Am Nightmare Eternal

 

 

Dawn comes up faster when you have a book by your side to keep you company. Vincent had stayed awake for the entire night and was now enjoying a scenic dawn with his tea and a book. Vincent looked over to Diederich who had finished skinning the carcasses of the rabbits and had their skins and skinless bodies set in a heap of blood and flesh by the fireplace. A few hours ago he had passed out, his head thumped against the table and he was out for the night. Vincent had dragged his heavy body to the bed and gently tucked him under the blankets as if he were a wayward child. In reality, when he got up Vincent would probably scold him for being so weak. Did he ask for permission to pass out? No, he did not. He was always handsome and when he slept he looked less like a mortal man and more like a sleeping statue of a man, he is pale skin barely raised as he breathed slowly. Vincent was overtaken with jealousy over his looks as well as a severe disappointment that Diederich just looked like this, all of the time, and did not even notice or appreciate his own beauty. It was such a waste of precious resources, really. If Vincent could kill him and assume his form, he would. It was just early enough for that kind of dark thought to take place. The sun was rising along the horizon line and providing some kind of color to the dull landscape. 

 

Vincent closed the book that he was reading and took the few steps over to the bed where Diederich was sleeping soundly. He could wake up and chide him for his inability to stave off the tiredness. Maybe even yell at him and tell him it was all his fault for hunting and wasting all of his energy on doing stupid useless things. He wasn't a light sleeper at all, he slept like the dead. Vincent knelt down by the bed, the wood made creaking noises under him but Diederich did not stir from his slumber. He got close to him and touched his face with the tips of his fingers, and Diederich made no movement at all to suggest that he was anything other than asleep. Vincent wondered for a second, if he could be really bold, and really awful, and perhaps reenact a famous fairytale by kissing him. And so he did. It was a quick kiss, nothing too risque, though it was disappointingly chaste. So Vincent got a little bolder and kissed him hard enough to wake up a comatose princess, and still, he continued to sleep. Through all of this wonderful making out, he remained blissfully unaware of the magnificent depravity that was taking place. Vincent was just a little bit disappointed in this fact. A small part of him kinda of wanted to get caught, even if it would end in an argument. And argument would be more satisfying than no reaction at all. 

 

"Wake up you insufferably pathetic bastard," he whispered in his ear before standing up and giving him a strong nudge. He gave the sleeping man a good shaking and so, he finally began to stir. 

 

"What?" he asked, still half-asleep and laying down. 

"Did I tell you that you could sleep?" 

 

"No?" Diederich answers, clearly confused and tired. 

"Precisely," Vincent said. He was being a prick to him and he wasn't sure why. Diederich didn't do anything that awful, nor did he do anything worth so mean about; Vincent wasn't even in a bad mood. He was just in a sadistic one; and it wasn't even a mood. It was just his constant state of being. 

"Vincent, must you start off the day being in a bad mood?"

"Must you start off the day by being pathetic?" he asked. Vincent couldn't have stopped himself from being so bloody awful even if he wanted to, which he didn't. 

 

"Get bent," Diederich hissed at him. Vincent smacked him across the faced with his ring hand in retaliation. 

 

"What the hell was that for?" 

 

"It's to wake you up," Vincent so kindly informed him. Diederich sighed and got up. He was still wearing his shoes, which was utterly ridiculous but Vincent could mock him for that later. His hair was oh-so-artlessly disheveled. Vincent wanted to run his fingers through it but he ran the risk of getting his fingers bitten off if he so much as tried to do that. 

 

They left the cabin and headed over to the fields. The sound of the sheep being murdered the night before was loud so it must have been fairly close to the cabin. They walked around until they found the trail of blood. It wasn't footsteps, so much of blotches here and there where it splattered, or where the sheep might have struggled in vain. The sheep itself was exactly as it was expected to be given the violent occurrence last night. It was covered with round, blood coated impalement wounds. Blood pooled around it's damaged carcass and matted with in the sheep's wool so that it could never be used. One of the teenage boys stood above the murdered sheep in his bare feet, staring down at it. Blood seeped into the cracks of the soles of his dry feet. His skin was pale as though it had never seen the light of day despite it working in the field at all hours of the day. His breathing was shallow and his bright red hair hung over his face in tight curls and obscured it from view. He trembled in his place, Vincent looked over at his with an expression of mild concern. He was rather surprised to see the boy here, as though the sheep before him was much more than just simple-minded livestock to him. 

 

"I knew this would happen," he said. His face was pale with fright and terror, he could not look up from the slaughtered carcass of the sheep to meet their gazes. He looked down at the white creature stained red with it's own blood. The locks were all matted together with blood or run through with massive impalement wounds. He was sweating nervously, his shirt stuck to his damp back.

 

"Were you up and about last night?" Vincent asked not mentioning that he had heard the sounds of the sheep being slaughtered. 

 

"I am up every night," he said, his voice quivered as he spoke. "I don't sleep."

 

"How odd that is," Vincent replied. Everyone slept. Even a stone cold man like Diederich would turn into a sleeping kitten on a nightly basis. 

Even Vincent slept, not as much as he should have, given his reoccurring nightmares and consequent insomnia, but he did sleep.  Either way, for now the boy was off the list of suspects until Vincent could develop photos to see if there was any possible way to incriminate him. 

 

Vincent set up a makeshift dark room in a small closet. He almost passed off from the noxious fumes from the chemical developers, but he got the task done. It had taken him hours to set up the camera trip lines and it had taken him almost as long to gather up all the film from the cameras. Yet, every one of them were set off in the night. Vincent half suspected that some of this was the work of a confused and emotionally distraught teenager wandering through the woods at night. He didn't suspect him at all in the killing, at least not without proper evidence. A young teenager wouldn't have been to engage in this kind of brutality. The photos were done and Vincent looked at them, and noticed a familiar anomaly, the same present in the prior photographs.In one photo, one in which Vincent clearly had mistakenly tripped over his own trap, the anomaly is standing directing behind. Perhaps about ten feet behind him, the shape of the figure was most clear in this photo, but it appeared to have no definable face. Just a flat, featureless egg for a head and a long black, twisting body with several arm-like tentacle appendages writhing around it. It just barely registered as a humanoid figure. Vincent didn't hear anything behind him the entire time he was out there, except for Diederich. He didn't see or hear anyone. He suspected that someone had donned this strange outfit in attempt to disguise themselves and scare some backwoods farmers. 

 

"Hey Dee, take a look at this," Vincent said, sticking his head out of the door. A noxious scent of developing chemicals leaked its way into the room. Diederich coughed and tried to cover his mouth. 

 

"What?" Diederich asked. 

 

"Look," Vincent said, holding up the photograph of himself with the black, white-faced ghoul standing behind him. Diederich looked at the photo, noticed the monster, and turned pale with fright. 

"Nope," Diederich said. 

 

"Oh come on, it's just some asshole on stilts," Vincent said. 

 

"Don't mock me," Diederich warned him. 

 

"Oh come on, I suppose now you'll tell me that you believe in god too?"

"Well..." Diederich said. Vincent rolled his eyes and took a deep sigh of derision. 

"Put your superstitious nonsense away and consider reading Origin of the Species, if you will. There is no way something ridiculous looking like this would survive in England, so it must clearly, and logically be some asshole on stilts," Vincent said, pointing out the same tall, faceless, man-like being in a different photo. It appeared to be standing across the field just on the edge of the tree line. 

 

"And please tell me how someone walking on something clumsy and difficult to manuever on as stilts, while wearing a mask that completely covers their face, would be able to not only walk through the woods, but also be able to kill not only livestock, but a grown man," Diederich asked Vincent. 

 

"They could be exceptionally skilled in the art," Vincent said. 

  
"Why would an exceptionally skilled performer be walking around in the woods in northern England?" 

"To kill people."

"But why would someone interested in theatrics bother to interfere with the livelihood of a family?"

 

"Because they are psychopaths," Vincent said. This was day one detective logic, at least when it came to being the Queen's personal detective. Human kill other humans. Sometimes they kill other humans in self-defense, sometimes they do it for good reasons, sometimes for bad reasons, and sometimes they do it for no reason at all. If there is anything humans are exceptionally skilled at, and have been since the dawn of mankind, it has been killing other humans.

 

"I don't think this was done for no reason," Diederich said. 

 

"Alright, let's hear your theories," Vincent said. He needed a good laugh to cover up the fact that the chemicals had made me him just a bit high and light headed. 

 

"I think was done to provoke fear. If they wanted to kill livestock, there would be no reason to walk around wearing a costume," Diederich said as he pointed to every photograph, "It's clear that they want to be seen, in order to prolong the suffering. So whomever is doing this is clearly getting some kind of entertainment from seeing the family suffer." 

 

"Good point," Vincent said. He wanted to come up with some sort of bitchy comment but he could not. It was a perfectly sound analysis and that kind of pissed him off, as proud as he was of Diderich. 

 

"What should we do now?"

"I think you should make me a sandwich and some tea," Vincent said. 

 

"What do I look like, your butler?" Diederich asked

"Get to it, fag," Vincent instructed him, snapping his fingers. Diederich scowled at him but walked off without arguing, to presumably, make Vincent a sandwich. What nice guy. 

 

Vincent was cleaning up his photography chemicals by dumping them all into a metal bucket and then dumping that bucket to where, who the hell knows. He just sort of dumped it out by the woods while Diederich was making him lunch. Vincent had packed enough food of his own in order to last the full time they were there, and then some to compensate for the ridiculous expanse in space time formerly known as Diederich's mammoth appetite. He assumed that Diederich had basic enough knowledge to manage to heat the water correctly, even though Vincent himself failed spectacularly in that subject. The photos he took were still sitting by the small closet room area in the farm house, though he didn't really have any use for him,because it wouldn't count as evidence if you couldn't even see the smallest amount of the criminals facial features in it. He sighed and after he was done dumping his toxic waste into unsuspecting nature, left the bucket near one of the little stables for the sheep and headed back to the small cabin where he could eat lunch, take a short nap, and then get on with his investigation. He suspected that he'd have the culprit gone by sun up and he'd be paid by the queen's personal courier before he even got back to his manor. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please look up the song "Courtship Dating" by Crystal Castles and you find the most perfect VinxDee song. "The first to interfere are culled before the deer, when they wander into my cage. Stuff their arms and thighs. As they roll their cardboard eyes, their skin will never age."  
> Yes it is a song about human taxidermy. I highly suggest Crystal Castles. 
> 
> There are plenty of fanfic authors who rec boring lame soft rock, pop punk or emo music to their readers. I'm not one of them. I will only prescribe you a bill for the finest audio mayhem and electric hell brutality meant to be injected straight into your ears. Go forth my readers, and rock your faces off. Life is too short to listen to lame music.


	20. Your Screams Are My Favorite Song

"Darling, I'm home," Vincent said with sarcastic bravado as he walked through the door of the small cabin. He was met with silence. Possibly because Diederich had actually done good on his promise to make him tea, and a sandwich, but then had apparently gone back to sleep right after doing this. He slept like a kitten on the bed, though this time he had at least taken his shoes off. The tea and sandwich were sitting on the small table, the tea wasn't awful but really, how difficult was it really to heat up water and pour it over tea leaves. Vincent took the sandwich and the tea and sat on the bed next to his sleeping companion, with Diederich's back facing him. It would be nice to enjoy lunch with some company, even if that company slept like a rock and did so far too often for his own good. Clearly he had not drunk enough for his vile rabbit's blood energy drink the night before.

"You know honeycakes, I'd never kick you out of bed for getting crumbs on the pillow," Vincent told his sleeping body with a mouth full of sandwich. He liked this conversation. Vincent rested the tea cup on Diederich's shoulder as he ate the sandwich and drank the tea in bed like some kind of uncultured animal. Which despite his proper english upbringing, he totally was. When Vincent was finished with his lunch and quite ready for a nap, he wanted to continue being a creep, because thats just totally what he does. So he spooned Diederich as thought he was Vincent's lover and Vincent was gently cradling him off to sleepytime land.

"I've been awake and ignoring your idiotic advances," Diederich informed him. Vincent did not move from his position. He stead stroked his neck lovingly as though he was petting a baby kitten. Except he was actually petting a grown man and this was seriously, and probably intentionally, very, very creepy and total violation of anything Diederich considered to be his personal space.

"Vincent, I am really uncomfortable right now."

"Ssshh... accept it."

"I hate you," Diederich said, but he didn't move from his spot, if only because there wasn't any other place to go.

After their awful nap, the awful nap in which, as Diederich complained, he got no sleep due to the sheer trauma of having Vincent's sleeping body touching him, it was time to head back into the woods. Where hopefully, Vincent would be the least creepy of men wandering around. It was still in the decent day light hours, they could spend a lot of time searching for the culprit in the woods before they had to worry about it being dark outside. They armed themselves with revolvers and hunting knives in their jacket pockets before setting off. There was a small unmarked walking path which went back far in the woods. They followed down it. It was really wasn't that unusual for a walk in the woods, there were trees rustling, birds chirping, it was actually a very dull way to pass the time. Vincent really couldn't understand the type of people who would pay guides thousands of pounds just to look at nature. Oh wow, look at that tree, as though theres not already about ten thousand other trees around here that look exactly like it. So fascinating. Nature, in all of it's supposed 'glory' and actual lack of glory, was the reason why modern man invented things like plays, and writing, and music. So they'd have something to do, because just walking around out here, looking for some douchebag on stilts? Not at all attention grabbing. Vincent would rather play grab ass with his fine assistant (or should he say ass-isstant), but he figured that it was too soon to try something with him again.

They heard rustling sounds in the bushes and turned around to face the sound. Vincent and Diederich pulled out their guns immediately and pointed it at the human like figure. They did not move, not even in surprise that a gun was being locked on them as though they were a target. They shook with fright. Vincent and Diederich stepped closer to them, the person trembled and staggered forward, limbs moving awkwardly, arms twitching in odd ways as though they were broken. He did not lift his head but from the red hair he had, it was probably one of Aileen's boys, and it was probably the one they saw freaking out earlier this morning. He made these guttural, scratching growling sounds with his throat like he was trying to talk but had screamed his throat raw and could not make intelligible sounds. The redheaded boy, the insomniac one, was wandering around in nothing but his pants, no shoes or shirt. He was covered with scratches and bruises all over his body which had not been there before. Vincent and Diederich put their guns away and approached him.

"What are you doing?" Vincent asked.

The boy didn't look up at him, only tried making these pathetic noises. Vincent grabbed him by his bruised and naked shoulder and Diederich took him by the arm. He did not fight back, nor did he comply. He was not 'inside' enough in his own mind to probably even know where he was at that moment. They wrangled him on his stumbling, battered legs and headed back down the trail towards the farmhouse. He wasp robably getting banged up by the stray roots, because he could not keep up with the pace. He was moving but he was comatose, he was useless to walk on his own. Blood was caked to the soles of his abused feet, because he'd been walking around through something sharp without shoes on and wasn't observant enough of his body to stop. It took awhile to reach the house, but they had gotten him back without any bit of a fight. Vincent knocked on the back door of the small farm house while Diederich held the boy up. He did not try to get away. Aileen opened the door and took a look at her son, her face grim and shocked.

"Get in here quick," she said, quickly taking her son from Diederich. She picked up the boy with her bare hand and set him on the shabby couch. He made a growling begging sound.

"Where have you been?" his mother said. Her voice broke as she spoke; she was nearly in tears at the sight of her son so damaged and hurt. She cradled him gently in her arms as he made these sobbing noises.

"He's going to kill us," he whispered in her ears.

"Nobody is going to kill us," Aileen assured him. He shook his head and tried to get up, but she held him down.

"Rest," she said.

"He'll kill me in my sleep," he whispered and sobbed. Aileen shooshed him and when he was good and still she went to get a wet cloth. Vincent and Diederich observed quietly as she washed the blood and dirt and grime off his wounds. She went through many rags with a sober expression on her face, as she willed herself past the shock of seeing her child so damaged and got to work getting him better. The scratches on his body seemed to be self inflicted from running through the brambles. Whatever he was running from, it probably would have done more damage to him than this.

"Are you both alright?" Vincent asked.

"Yes," Aileen said, nodding, "I think he'll be fine." She said but the tone of her voice made it seem as though she didn't believe the words she was saying.

"I think we are going to head back into the woods and try to find more evidence," Vincent told her.

"Perhaps I should stay behind to make sure that they aren't harmed," Diederich suggested.

"No need for that," Aileen told him. She pointed to a row of hunting rifles she had set up just beside the door. She would definitely not need any saving from either of them, and Diederich's poorly attempted excuse to not go back into the spooky woods was obliterated.

Vincent and Diederich trekked back to the cabin from the house. They did not speak about what they just saw, or what this could possibly mean. Clearly, the boy had gotten spooked in the forest by some jackass in a costume. People start hallucinating after a few days without sleep. He was probably too scared to bother remembering to eat or drink. People tend to hallucinate with the combination overwork, stress, dehydration and lack of food. The nightmarish hallucinations combined with that fucker on the stilts made for a very, very convincing woods monster to run away from. He wasn't thinking clearly, at least not clearly enough to understand that pain meant stop, or to keep his clothes from being torn up by stray branches. If someone was trying to scare the boy shirtless, they had done a brilliant job of it. Diederich seemed lost in thought, staring at the afternoon scenery. Vincent pinched him on the back of the neck, making him jump with fright. Vincent laughed at his obvious fear.

"You're not funny," Diederich told him as they entered the cabin.

"I am hilarious," Vincent said. Diedrich sighed and rolled eyes in obvious contempt. He picked up two lanterns, and handed one to Vincent. Vincent reached into his supplies and grabbed a second gun, you know, just in case. The enemy could never have too many bullet wounds.

"Well, our last excursion was certainly disturbing, let's go back to the forest, shall we?" Vincent said, a cheerful smile on his face that was most certainly a lie. It was late afternoon and they had wasted most of their day light exploration hours finding the insane boy and dragging him back to the farmhouse. Even though it was not to their advantage to do the rest of the investigation at night, the sun would be setting soon and there was no other options to be had. Yes, they could hang about and wait until sun rise shed a little light in their investigation, but Vincent also was hoping that they would be gone by morning. There is a certain pushyness in just wanted to be away from this awful gray town, the house infested by madness, the flock of sheeps that were just innocent prey.


	21. Out In The Woods

"In which direction are we going?" Diederich asked.

"I want to retrace our steps up to where we found him, then I want to see if we can trace his trail. I want to see if he found anything he shouldn't have," Vincent said.

They set out through the woods, down the same clearly marked path they headed down the first time. The sun was just at the horizon line and dipping beneath it; while they followed the occasional blotches of blood from where they dragged the comatose kid by the bleeding, soles of his feet. They turned on the lanterns and held them up as the light had grown dimmer with the lack of sunlight. Vincent held the lantern in one hand, and a gun in the other. They followed the trail back down for awhile, until they came to the bramble patch where the boy had been hiding. Vincent walked over closer to it, Diederich standing guard behind him to investigate it. He illuminated the area, trying to find blood here and there to mark the direction from once the boy came earlier that day. There were tiny splotches here and there, wiping on the tips of branches. Diederich and Vincent set out in different paths, trying to find evidence but Diederich didn't wander very far from him. Vincent looked over at him and noticed a familiar pale expression of fear on his face. A few hundred feet from where they found the kid, they saw the torn up remains of his white linen shirt. It was more dirty gray with splatterings of rust colored dried blood and torn beyond repair.

"Let's see if he went further", Vincent said. Diederich nodded, not making a sound.

They looked around, trying to navigate their way through the woods. It was now completely dark outside, save for the light of their lanterns. The silhouette of the trees and dark purple sky nearly blended together in a homogeneous black. It was overcast so not even the moon or stars illuminated the night sky. They found some blood here and there though they couldn't be sure if it was still the trail of the kid they were after, or if it was just blood from some random animal killed out in nature. There weren't any shoes or scraps of fabric to be found; no large broken or bent branches to infer a delusional human romping around aimlessly. It was about an hour after they found his shirt that Vincent remembered that he had no idea from what direction they had come from. They both went off the trail, and walked around back and forth, trying to track the trail of a person. A trail which they were no longer following. It was oddly quiet outside, not a single sound of crickets or birds chirping could be heard that night, clearly everything else alive was sleeping tonight.

"Hey Dee, do you remember which way we came from?" Vincent asked him.

"I was following you," Diederich admitted.

"I'm lost and I have no idea where we are going."

"Goddamn it Vincent," Diederich said. He looked really uncomfortable and paranoid. As they tried going back to the little cabin by walking from what they believed to be the opposite direction. Vincent followed him around in the woods, and every once in awhile, DIederich would stop for a second and look back at him silently as though Vincent had said something.

"I really feel uncomfortable right now, I think we're being followed," Diederich finally said. Vincent rolled his eyes. It was like unfounded paranoia and delusions had become contagious.

"It's me, that you're hearing," Vincent told him.

"I think there is something following us," he insisted. This was getting ridiculous. Stick some people out in the woods with the 'threat' of a jack in a costume and suddenly the sound of he wind rushing through the trees would become the errant growls of a rabid, hungry beast.

"There is nothing following us, you're just hearing the echo of our footsteps," Vincent said. The day when Vincent Phantomhive had to become the bringer of logic and reason was a dark day indeed.

After what felt like hours of walking around aimlessly in the woods, they had finally themselves at the clearing. They were now across the field from the cabin, they could see a light from the window of the farmhouse, and it felt like a beacon of hope to them. They were both annoyed with each other at this point. There was no conversation polite or otherwise, just an air of tension and the sound of their footsteps crunching the grass and twigs beneath their feet. Vincent was annoyed with Diederich's superstitious paranoia, and Diederich was rather vexed by Vincent's tendencies to completely ignore or mock any of the concerns he had. An annoyance, which he reminded Vincent, was not confined to just this night by itself. Now he was ignoring him, and Vincent was doing the same. They trekked back to the cabin, exhausted and frustrated with each other and their inability to have found anything. The only thing they accomplished in that unpleasant stroll through the forest was disliking each other. It was only slightly more of an accomplishment than the utterly pathetic display of disappointing behavior they achieved at the Viscount of Druitt's shindig.

"What should we do now?" Diederich asked.

"Well, I'm going to sleep, and I don't care what you do," Vincent said.

"I really would like it if you didn't touch me, when you think I am asleep. It disturbs me."

"I won't do it again," Vincent said. Diederich looked at him in a way that Vincent could see the sheer disbelief and fear in his eyes. For some weird reason, that look was incredibly appealing to him, and not just because the face making it was so damned attractive.

"Really. Now please, I am exhausted of your constant paranoia, go to sleep."

Vincent wonders for a second if his paranoia is paranoia really is irrational, or if he's being just a little bit unreasonable by expecting Diederich to be unharmed by the mental pressures of this job after one case. Vincent himself had been doing this for almost three years now and it hadn't always been that easy. The last time where he needed his younger sister to bail him out of trouble was proof enough that he wasn't perfect as a detective. Frances would have best candidate for this job, she was resistant to distraction, she was strong willed and tough as nails, but Vincent knew it wasn't because she wanted her life to turn out that way. It was mostly his fault that she had to protect him, his fault that she grew up knowing the atrocities of cruelty to be just another fact of her daily life. He had ruined any chance Frances ever had at being the ignorant perfect angel woman that every man wanted, she was marked, she was mentally scarred from seeing the marks of his abuse. Vincent already had a leg up in this whole watchdog business because he was already fucked in the head, there wasn't any kind of murder or torture he couldn't stomach looking at, because it wasn't like he hadn't already been there himself. Then again, it wasn't like death was a stranger to Diederich's mind, it just presented itself in a different way. Both of them had tried to kill the people that hurt them the most, the only positive thing to be said about this morbid little thing they had in common was that Diederich didn't succeed like Vincent had.

Vincent is back in the woods, the sky is a strange mauve color, so he's pretty sure that he's dreaming. His dreams tend to be just a little more colorful than reality, and he remembers quite distinctly that the stars weren't shining brightly in the sky fifteen minutes ago. These are the time when he wishes that he could control the subject matter of his minds darkest thought, but he can't do that. He's now walking alone in the woods, with nothing to light the way for him except for the stars and moon shining cold light on him. He wishes that he could dream about being a nude beach in France populated solely by attractive young men, but nope, he was dreaming about being in a boring little woods. He looked behind him, and there it was, towering above him. That thing. It was tall and it's featureless white face was looking down at him. Vincent felt himself paralyzed in fear beneath this... dream creature. It moves with jerky motions, it's head moving from side to side, reverberating back and forth. It gets closer. Is this the monster Diederich imagines when he closes his eyes in the woods? It is inches closer to Vincent, behind it, dozens of sharp, hooklike, black appendages sprout from its back. They are closing in on Vincent, within seconds, the appendages will close down upon him and skewer him alive. There is only thing he can do. He pulls out the knife he always keeps stashed on his person and plunges it in the center of it's face. He stabs it again, and it falls to the ground, all crumpled up black bits and the white face turns crimson with blood. It looks up at Vincent and it has the face of his father. He gets up, the knife still wedged in his bleeding, wrinkled face and shakes Vincent hard. Vincent tears the knife from his face and stabs him again but he won't go back down.

"Vincent you're a mad man!" Diederich is screaming at him. There is no father, there is no monster. Vincent is now aware that he is holding up a hunting knife to him, he's in a cold sweat and for a second he's not sure where he is, then he remembers that he is in a cabin and he nearly murdered someone who he would be quite sad if they died. Vincent is now very aware that he would never forgive himself if he had actually hurt Diederich, which implies that he cares about him enough that mourning would occur if he had died. Diederich has a firm grasp around Vincent's wrist and is looking at him with wide, shocked eyes. Vincent loosens his grip on the knife and Diederich takes it from him with his free hand. He lets go of Vincent's wrist when he has the knife.

"I'm sorry," Vincent whispered, "I don't know what happened."

"I tried to wake you up and you tried to knife me!" Diederich yelled at him, Vincent is acutely aware that he deserves this, even if he didn't mean for it to have happened. He doesn't know how to apologize for this. Sorry I'm so fucked up because my father beat me? He tried that excuse before it got him no sympathy, and why should it now.

"If I were anyone else, you would have slit my throat," Diederich reminded him, the knife still in his hand. Vincent shouldn't have to be impressed that Diederich is quick and strong enough to stop Vincent from murdering him on a whim.

"I get night terrors and it's a bad idea to wake me up, I should have told you about this," Vincent excused himself but he knew there would be no acceptable excuse. He just gave Diederich just another reason to be paranoid and fearful. "Why did you try waking me, again?"

"I couldn't sleep so I was just looking out the window and I saw that dreadful monster, and it was staring at me. It was staring at me. So I tried to wake you up and you nearly killed me," Diederich reminds him. This of course implies that Diederich still believes in made up monsters while a real monster is next to him right now. Vincent sighed, finding himself doing a lot of sighing lately, though he wasn't so sure if this signature sigh of derision was aimed at Diederich or himself.

"You are in no position to tell me that I am the one acting delusional," Diederich told him.

"Alright, alright. Let's go out there and hunt him down," Vincent said as he slipped on his coat and shoes. Diederich was fast behind him, getting the guns out and ready. Vincent looked at him with a questioning glance.

"Can I have my knife back?" he asked. Diederich handed him the knife.

"Please don't kill me with this," he said, realized the gaping plot hole in this sentence and finished it with, "Or anything else."

Vincent and Diederich quietly strolled around the field with their lanterns. They were on a missions to find anything out of place, given that Diederich just saw the culprit, it seemed reasonable to suspect that they ere still lurking around near by. The sheep were peacefully being sheep and doing sheep things. They walked about the pasture, trying to find a dead sheep, but as far as they could tell, none of the sheep had yet to be mutilated or hurt. They were white, pristine, gentle, innocent, unmaimed sheep. They baaed quietly or slept like little white tussles of wool on the ground. There were no signs of mutilated sheep anywhere, and they had given a good look around the field for mutilated sheep corpses. Not a single white tuft of wool was out of place on that entire field. Vincent looked at Diederich, who was still clearly on edge from Vincent nearly knifing that beautiful face of his.

"There is nothing out here," Vincent said. He spoke too soon. They both heard a loud snap of a tree branch and quickly turned towards the sound. They saw a long, tall, black shadow of a something flash behind the trees, too fast for them to get a good look but not so fast that they didn't realize it had to be at least fifteen feet tall.

"Nothing?" Diederich asked Vincent. They both had their guns out and were ready to go back into the woods yet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't put as many fun things on the notes here as I do on ff.net
> 
> http://fc02.deviantart.net/fs71/i/2014/037/5/6/slenderbro_by_demonmilk-d75dw13.jpg
> 
> Here's a comically bad photomanip.


	22. Unmasking A Monster

Vincent rushed into the woods. He looked around but it was just before the sunrise and it was still hard to see the dark scary whateveritis in the woods. He got a clear look at the creatures featureless face as it turned to face him. It had to be at least twice as tall as an average height man, if not more. It had to be less than a few yards away from them. It did not ran away, so much that it stayed still, long black tendrils started moving around from its back, as it this were some kind of feral animal call screaming, 'leave me alone!'. Upon seeing this creature, and being so close to it, Vincent did what every good detective would do. He fucking shot it. So questions, no excuse me sir in a costume, he just aimed his gun at the midsection and bang, bang, bang, bang. It thrashed about, but made no sounds, no growls or scream for help like a person would. Several shots later, the tall monstrocity was motionless on the forest floor in a pool of it's own blood, its head and body were riddled with gun shot wounds. Vincent and Diederich approached it slowly, guns still aimed and ready to shoot it back down if it made even the slightest displays of being alive. It did not show even the slightest display of being alive. It was still. Vincent prodded at it with the toe of his shoe. He knelt down and ran his bare hand across the featureless white face. It was soft, almost like human flesh but without the microhairs on the surface. It had pores, but no openings for eyes or a mouth. Diederich approached it and went closer. Vincent tugged at the face, finding that nothing would budge. He took out the knife and tried slicing an angle at the side of the head, old blood poured from the wound.

"That is not a costume," Vincent said. He could hardly believe his own words as he said them.

Vincent tried pulling back the flesh just to find muscle and tissue underneath it. This was some thing like an inhuman beast, fifteen feet tall, the flesh of the body was colored completely black. In the center of the abdomen was something like a vertical crease about two feet length in length. Vincent tried to pull it apart but could not. So he waved over Diederich who knelt carefully next to the corpse, trying not to get blood on his pants. They pulled at the edges of the crease, pulling it it apart like it was the shell of a stubborn clam. Actually, it was more like a pair of massive, thin lips with a tight grasp around sharp, dagger teeth. They both looked down at the teeth with wide shocked eyes. They pulled carefully, trying not to slice themselves apart on the teeth. Vincent looked into the great mouth that took up the entire length of torso. It reminded him of going into the London natural history museum, to see the great jaws of the fossilized megalodon. Carefully, they closed back up the massive mouth, both of them shocked by the bizarre anatomy of this beast. Diederich rolled it over on it's side curiously feeling up the black tendrils. They were hard and jagged, quite similar in structure to the legs of spiders but harder, like they were made mostly of bone. Vincent walked back to the farm house to find Aileen.

"Well, we found and killed the culprit, but you may want to come back and see this," Vincent said. Aileen stopped spinning her yarn and got up to follow him outside back to where the corpse of the tall monster lay. He wasn't so sure where Diederich had run off to, but he wasn't watching the corpse like he should have been.

"What is that?" Aileen asked, looking down at it. She nudged the corpse of the creature with the toe of her boot.

"Your guess is as informed as my own," Vincent told her.

"Should I burn the corpse?" Aileen asked.

"Most definitely," Vincent answered.

Aileen dragged the corpse with one of the bony appendages and dragged it by herself, leaving a long trail of blood behind her. Vincent walked beside her as she did this. She took it out back to a stump, where she normally cut wood. A heavy axe was sitting by the stump. Aileen positioned the carcass on the stump and hacked away at it with an axe. One by one she hacked off it's limbs. The axe was brought down on the corpse with a crunch, crunch of splintering bones and splattering blood. The corpse fell apart with little hesitation underneath the heavy tool. Aileen stacked a pile of kindling and tossed the pieces of the corpses over it. She set it ablaze with a flint and stood next to Vincent. She smiled happily, as if this were all of the closure that she would need. Diederich could be on the tree line, walking out of the woods. He had his jacket off and was carrying something suspicious in his arms as he approached them. Vincent walked over towards him.

"What are you holding? Where did you go?" Vincent asked. He didn't authorize Diederich to leave the scene of the crime to go run off int othe woods without a good reason for doing so.

"I heard a noise and I found this poor little baby wandering off on it's own. I tried looking for the mother, it's eyes are barely even open," Diederich explained. Vincent looked down to what he was holding. It was a little ginger-blonde tabby kitten. It had the perfect little M head and tiny white mitten paws accented by baby pink paw pads. It had bright blue kitten eyes and a little pink kitten nose. It looked happy and at home in Diederich's arms.

"You are not bringing that in the carriage," Vincent told him. No cats. Nope.

"Yes I am," Diederich insisted. Alois let out a tiny squeak that was some sort of attempt at meowing.

"I don't mind cats, I really don't. I have no biases against cats, but please mind you, I do not want to be stuck in there, for five hours, in a confined space with something that makes me sick," Vincent complained. Diederich did not put down the tabby kitten. Vincent could hear it purr from where he was standing. It was like the little pile of fluff and allergens was running its own tiny motor. He could also feel the headyness of a headache and allergic reaction coming on from where he was standing. He would not do well to be enclosed with this creature, regardless of how incredibly adorable it happened to be.

"Look over there at that field full of all the fucks that I give," Diederich told him as he gestured to the empty pasture with one arm, the cat was still nestled in his other arm, mocking Vincent with it's adorable cat face.

"Fine, bring the cat, I really can't bring myself to care what you do," Vincent told him. Diederich shrugged in reply.

"I would bring regardless of what you had to say," he informed Vincent.

The carriage ride back to London was dull. Vincent was trying to break into his reading, but that just didn't seem to be happening for him today. Diederich was playing with his new baby, whom he had officially named Alois. He insisted that this was the perfect name for the little 'darling'. Vincent did not think he would ever call any thing that happened to exist on this plane of existence, his child, his darling, or his baby, but this tiny little Alois kitten was all three. Someone needed to give this man an intervention from his copious amount of cats. Vincent found himself hardly able to breathe. His lungs felt like they were on fire, his eyes felt as thought they had already burned up and were nothing but two blackened pits in his eye sockets. Vincent hacked and wheezed as he tried to read his book in peace. Normally he would have been able to get comfortably lost in it's pages and become numb to the world outside of the story. This time he was not doing any of that fun stuff. Because every time he got really into a passage, he'd cough loudly and choke on his own phlegm and bring himself right back into the real world where there currently no adventure. There was only the pain of allergic reactions and jealousy. He looked over to Diederich, who had Alois in his arms. The kitten was asleep again. Well at least someone was enjoying themselves.

Vincent had dropped Diederich and his things back off at his apartment in London, while Vincent rushed back on wards to his lovely home, his estate. Where he wouldn't have any creepy woods monsters, there would only be bears. The scariest terror he would run into would be his younger sister, but for all her might and strength and tenacity, was hardly monstrous. No, her type of fear was unexpected. Nobody looked at Frances and thought of a woman with all the power and abilities of a harsh god. There would be no heartbroken redheaded women, or their half-insane children. There would be only Rachel and the inevitable scandal that surrounded Vincent's living 'in sin' with her, an unmarried couple sharing an estate, such a shock! And only less shocking than his nearly murdering Diederich with a hunting knife, all without being consious of doing so. He wouldn't miss this case, though he would miss kissing him, but he didn't need an excuse to do that. Anything to get out of those godawful dreary woods and to get back to his lovely home full of the things he liked. Things like a comfortable he could have all to himself and a hot shower that he really needed. He arrived there just after night fall and he didn't even care that he had missed dinner.

"Hello," Rachel said, greeting him at the door.

"Good night," Vincent said politely. Vincent gave her a quick hug before heading off to his bedroom. He did not even greet Tanaka. Tanaka would know that Vincent would be headed for a shower and some sleep the second he arrived. Vincent had a quick shower and headed off to his sleep. He was exhausted and he could only think of one thing, the beautiful, black, embrace of sleep. This time he did not have nightmarish visions of his father, there was just a peaceful sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any guesses as to what the next case is going to be about? Come on, I really want to know your guesses! It'll be fun. I'm really curious to see what directions you think I will take in this story. :) Please humor me.
> 
> Hint: It contains another reference to a piece of literature I have already referenced at the beginning of this story.
> 
> Another hint: Undertaker will be *very* involved in this case.
> 
> Now go forth, and hit me with your best theories and guesses!


	23. Not-So-Idle Death Threats

It was time for morning breakfast with Rachel in the nice sitting room. Vincent was still tired from his last case out in the woods, but now it was time to compartmentalize the part of him that saw the horrors of the world into a little box. He had to start being a normal nobleman until the next red-sealed latter came. Rachel has with a large assortment of various clippings and store adverts. She also has a few inserts which have fabric samples. Small squares of silk stapled, labelled and compared with each other on a piece of thick paper. There was a book of various types of flowers. There were color cards of different shades of roses, lilacs. There were notes comparing which flowers went well in what months, and what colors were most appropriate to coordinate with each other. To Vincent, it may as well have been written in aramiac, because he didn't understand any of it or want to. It was too early for this. She had these displays of matrimonial intent put around the table, taking up the entire vicinity of the table. All of them were spread out and left almost no room for Vincent's plate. This is of course, is the least subtle way of informing him that he has not ever done a single thing to prepare for the wedding. He found Rachel, he formulated the plot, but after that he just sort of avoided the topic. Now he was having morning breakfast of tea and scones with cream and jam in an awkward silence, desperately trying avoid what was sadly unavoidable.

"I think we should hurry it up, my parents are starting to become suspicious," Rachel said, she cut straight to the chase before Vincent even touched his lips to his tea cup. "Plus I'm not getting any younger."

"You're seventeen, Rachel."

"Which might as well make me an old maid."

"You don't really think that," Vincent said. He expected better of her.

"I don't, but thats what society thinks, and besides, if you've been with me for too long without taking any real interest people might start rumor about you being perhaps, uninterested in women."

"Oh yes because my clear lack of marriage is the only thing about me that makes people think I'm a homosexual."

"Vincent please. We only made this agreement to sham marriage because I need my parents to shut up and leave me alone, and you need a cover so you don't meet your ends at the gallows. Right now this fake relationship of ours isn't fulfilling either of those things," Rachel reminded him. He was casually ignoring her, pretending that he was more invested in the baked goodness and lilac jelly.

"My parents want us over for dinner to discuss arrangements," Rachel told him.

"I don't want to."

"You're going to do it anyways," Rachel informed him. Vincent looked over at her intense blue eyes. She was staring him down like a

He would do it. He would go to her parents home, her parents, whom he did not like.

"Can I sort out some paper work first?" Vincent asked.

"Alright, but the second you're done..." Rachel said. It was a threat veiled with organza.

Vincent was dawdling around in his office. He wasn't actually sure why he even had an office. Why would a hired murderer even need an office? Most of the time he spent in his office was jacking off, because he honestly had nothing better to do in that particular room. He didn't have any paperwork. Alright, sure, he had to file taxes and that sort of thing but actually he just left all of that work to either Tanaka or a hired accountant. Vincent pretty much saw absolutely nothing of his personal finances and he was too short sighted to actually care abut them. Right now Vincent was busy reading a book about poisons. Which he could have just as easily done in the library, which had a more comfortable chair. But then he would have to come out of the office and do what Rachel asked him to do. So that means he was in the uncomfortable but nice and quiet office chair reading the same book on poisons he had read dozens of times, drawn notes all over the margins of, and was now acting as though his diddly doodle margin corrections were the most fascinating thing to ever be read. This was taking the spirit of procrastination into the highest regard that any young man could muster. He didn't want to be early to dinner, he wanted to be late and spend as little time as humanly possible at the Durless estate. Someone knocked on the door to his office but he didn't reply to it, since he was trying his best to make the appearance of not procrastinating. Frances was in Vincent's office, standing at the door like she wanted something important. He looked up over his book, trying his best to look as though he was doing some important and official reading.

"I want to get married to Alexis," she said adamantly. Was marriage the topic of the day or something?

"You barely know him."

"I love him," she said. Vincent looked up at her, he was clearly annoyed with this. The only thing more silly than Vincent hiding in his office from the prospect of talking to his inlaws was Frances barging in his office talking about how much she was in love. Just what the hell so special about Alexis Midford, anyways? Vincent could sum up his entire personality in two points: oddly enthusiastic about everything, and loves swords. A smart girl like Frances would tire of him within a month.

"Don't be a Juliette, Frances. Stupidity doesn't suit you," Vincent said,shaking his head.

"He's really nice," Frances said. She was trying to sell him on this, and it wasn't going over well for her.

"Yes but a week from now you might think, oh wow I'm really over him but boo hoo I can't leave him because my idiot older brother totally signed off on a wedding I wasn't ready for," Vincent told her. He was right, he knew he wasright, and he was also sure that under the layer of teenage girl hormones, Frances knew he was right as well.

"It's kind of hard to just leave him now since we sort of, well, you know," Frances said, her voice suddenly got quiet. Vincent's mind was now going places he was pretty sure Frances's mind had never even thought of.

"You didn't..." Vincent was just a little taken back. He really hoped she didn't mean what he assumed she meant. She beat him up. He offered her something nice. Something else. Something besides the first thing that Vincent himself would think to do to a cute boy that he happened to like.

"I had sex with Alexis," Frances admitted. That was exactly what Vincent wished he had not assumed earlier. She was looking down at the wood grain pattern of Vincent's desk, trying not to make eye contact, but for a second he knew he could see her smile. If it wasn't so damn reckless of her to do this, he would have been proud of her.

"Frances, what the hell were you thinking?!" Vincent shouted at her. Normally he did not like to yell at her, but this time she had earned it. It was beneath her to act this kind of stupid, especially over something that Frances would have normally considered trivial, or trite. Like a boy. Besides, she was a strong girl, she could handle being yelled at.

"I can't believe you're being such a hypocrite about this," Frances complained, she clearly had no other offenses in this situation.

"How am I being a hypocrite?"

"Reginald Macmillan, Samuel Hamilton, Harold Grey, Sebastian Michaelis, Charles Wood, Alexander Shaddock, Aliester Chambers," Frances listed off while counting them on her fingers. These were just the ones she knew about, which certainly wasn't all of his paramours, but damn it, she had him pinned. She was out-sassing the sass master.

"Frances, stop," Vincent said. He gave up.

"Diederich Von Wolf," she added in at the last minute. That one was harsh, if only because Vincent hadn't gotten that one yet.

"Actually haven't had sex with him yet."

"You've managed to restrain yourself," Frances commented. Vincent could tell her surprise at that was genuine.

"You couldn't even wait a bloody goddamned week!" Vincent said, bringing the topic of the conversation, to well, the fact that he and his sister had yet another bad habit in common.

"You can't either!"

"I can't get pregnant," Vincent told her. Frances stared at him. "Didn't even think about that did you?"

"It was the furthest thing from my mind in that particular moment. Now it is the only thing I can think about."

"That is why I'm not letting you run about and elope with him."

"But what if, I am pregnant?" Frances asked.

"A simple exercise in lesser evils. Get an abortion and lie about it," Vincent said.

"Don't worry so much about it. If it makes you feel better, I'm about to have a long, awkward dinner with two people who think I'm doing to Rachel what you did to Alexis."

"I would pay to see that," Frances said.

"If you want to come with me, I could use moral support," Vincent suggested.

"I'm there," Frances said. Vincent had a feeling that Frances would take any welcome distraction form her current dilemma that she could actually get.

"Can you please complement Ann's looks?" Rachel asked Vincent. They were sitting in the carriage. Frances had a small bag of her knitting with her. She was making something, maybe a jacket. Vincent couldn't really tell but he did notice that it was mostly cream colored with a few specks of purple and blue mixed in. She was ignoring their topic of conversation. She had never met the younger Durless daughter Angelina, who was a very shy but apparently very smart young lady who wanted very badly to be a doctor. She was also adorable. Not adorable in the misleading way that Frances was adorable, but she had the endearing qualities of a cute young girl.

"Why?"

"Well, she's been very stressed out because of her medical exams in school, and she told me that she thinks that all men see her as being a plain girl with ugly red hair. So please tell her she looks pretty, I want her to get some confidence when it comes to talking with men."

"I don't see why Angelina is bothered by how she looks, she's adorable."

"Well yes, it's obvious that she is, but you know how my parents are, nothing is good enough for them, and she believes everything they say to her," Rachel said. Oh the things Vincent heard Rachel repeat. That Anne wasn't pretty, which isn't true. Both Rachel and Anne are very pretty, except to say that Rachel is more of a coy minx and Anne was something of a cutie pie. That Anne wasn't smart, which was proven to be false in a scientific setting. That Anne wouldn't become anything in life, which was kind of ridiculous because according to the exam grades she had received, she was already well on her way to becoming a nurse. Then there was the whole part where Vincent overheard Rachel's father calling her a harlot, and even just thinking about that one made him want to put the man's name at the very top of his long hit list.

"Doesn't anyone have decent parents these days?" Vincent asked.

"The Midfords are very nice," Frances said.

The Durless estate was a nice one, though it could be said that they were perhaps a hair or two above the upper middle class. Not nearly as wealthy as the Phantomhives, but thanks to the rumors that constantly circulating about the Phantomhives, the Durlesses were of better social standing. Something about the majority of people not wanting to concern themselves with those rumored to be murderers of the coldest blood. Rachel mentioned offhandedly that the family used to have a great deal of wealth, but like many families, it dwindled over time by means of gambling, prostitution and other excesses. It was no secret to Rachel, (and presumably, not to Mrs. Durless either) that the man of the house frequented brothels and thats exactly where most of their money went. They begrudgingly let Angelina study in medical school, perhaps if only because she was awarded continual grants for having the highest marks of anyone else in the region. It was almost surprising how well groomed Rachel and Angelina acted, considering that the nature of their family wasn't really all that great.

Rachel led them to a small room where Angelina was sitting with a text book and a pot of tea. She was wearing her nursing uniform. It was a plain long sleeved black dress with the neckline going up around her neck. The sleeves were long and plain without a bit of flounce, and tightly cut so that she could work easily. Over that she wore a plain white muslin apron. A white bonnet obscured her bright red hair and most of her face. She smiled a small smile at Rachel, who was absolutely over joyed to see her. Vincent felt out of place here, even with Rachel and Frances. He felt like maybe like Angelina wasn't shy, maybe she just didn't like him and didn't approve of her marrying Rachel. Her silence seemed so strange, even with Rachel's insistence she was just shy. Perhaps she ran into someone at the hospital who had gotten on Vincent's bad side and showed up with bullet and stab wounds. Maybe she was just incredibly perceptive and could see beyond the mask of friendliness and normality.

"Lina!" Rachel called, hugging her sister tightly.

"Good afternoon Angelina," Vincent said.

"Uh, h-hello," Angelina said trying not to make eye contact with Vincent.

"Has anyone ever told you that your hair is beautiful? It reminds me of the lycoris flower," Vincent said, trying to come off as warm and friendly as possible. He was trying to be nice, but he didn't think that his charm was working for Angelina at all.

"T-thankou, Earl Phantomhive," Angelina said, looking down at her feet. Her face was about as red as her hair. She hurried off to elsewhere in the manor without saying anything else.

"Did I offend her?" Vincent asked Rachel.

"She's just shy and stressed out, I'm sure she appreciates the kindness," Rachel said with a smile.

"I think she might just be trying to avoid you because she dislikes you," Frances remarked.

"Frances please. Ann doesn't dislike anyone, I don't think she's ever felt a pang of dislike or malcontent towards anyone in her life," Rachel said.

Dinner was beyond an utter bore. Vincent liked it better when he had dinner at home at sat at the small table in the parlor and talked Rachel about improper perverse things. They played card games for hours on end while casually drinking tea that was actually mostly liquor. Frances would come in and she'd ask if they could help her with her school work, or she'd join in and they would play games of charades. That was the kind of future he wanted for the Phantomhive household. He wanted people to laugh, to have fun, he wanted to come home every evening knowing that his home wouldn't just be a place where a madman lived. It would be a fun place where a mad man lived. That is why he hated the Durlesses. The man of the house was a pompous arsehole of the finest pedigree, though markedly lower than Vincent's own. Every other sentence of his was laced with some sexist jab at either one his daughters. This was not what Vincent wanted to hear. If he was a parent he would never say such a thing about his child within the company of his child's betrothed. Yet he spoke ill of other as casually as though he was prattling off about the stock exchange. Vincent could enjoy gossip, and both he and Rachel did gossip an amout that would been considered scandalous ,but certainly not in the company of those they were talking about. There was no laughter and Lady Durless simply pursed her lips, smiled nervously and went on with this entire spectacle of disrespect. After this, the man of the house led Vincent into his study, though Vincent couldn't think of him at all as being an intellectual.

"I have my reservations about you, Vincent," the red haired man said to him. He twirled his mustache in a way that had more pretension that should come from any man with such a ridiculous looking mustache. He was sitting in a plush chair across from Vincent with a glass of cheap gin in his hand. Vincent sat politely and tried to conceal an expression of boredom and dislike.

"I don't understand why you seek my daughter, or even let her stay within your home," he said. He cut straight to the point. Vincent liked this because it meant that he wouldn't have to waste so much time with this jackass.

"I was finishing my schooling at Weston College, and my younger sister was pleased by the company of another woman, Rachel has been a wonderful house guest, I should prefer for her to stay forever," Vincent told him.

"And where do you work now?"

"I work with Her Majesty, Queen Victoria. I am sure you've heard of her."

"I am aware of who runs our country," the man said. His tone was tense, and he was clearly not amused by Vincent's attitude, this only tempted him to be even more sarcastic.

"Are you really?" Vincent asked rhetorically. For a man to have such an attitude against the bright young women in his household then to say the he was aware of who ran the country. The hypocrisy was overwhelming. He pitied his future mother in law.

"I would not hold it against you if you decided that Rachel was not deserving to be a countess, after all, it would hardly surprise me at all. Being weak as she is, she would hardly be suited to marriage or motherhood," Durless said. Vincent felt a little sick to him stomach and repulsed by the man. Clearly he trusted Vincent enough to let his mask slip and show Vincent what kind of horrible person he really is.

"I disagree, I find Rachel most charming. I am just busy with work and would like to postpone the wedding enough so that I can take time off to focus my life wholly on a new marriage. It would be cruel of me to marry your daughter than leave for work then ext morning."

"Most men would do such a thing," he said. He said it like he implied he did it himself.

"Most men aren't true gentleman. I however, a gentleman, am above such callous treatment."

"Have you considered a date for the wedding?" he asked, with the tone of his voice indicating that he didn't believe that Vincent had considered any date. Which is true, because he told Rachel she could do whatever she wanted with the wedding.

"Rachel and I were considering a spring wedding, May would be most charming."

"So you are putting this off by some months," he said.

"Are you presuming that it would be appropriate to marry my wife in the dead leaves of autumn? How unromantic," Vincent said. The earliest they could possibly prepare for a wedding would be in October. Everything would be dead and boring.

"I see," the man looked at Vincent his expression suspicious and annoyed, "Whatever shall suit you, but don't think that I have neglected to notice the rumors about your behavior," he said.

"What might those entail?"

"Your dangerous job description."

"Well now that you know that I've killed men with my bare hands and thought nothing of it, you won't mind me leaving all of the decisions up to Rachel, will you? I'd love for it to be her special day, and for it to be the best wedding any woman could have and if anyone tries to stand in the way of what she wants, it wouldn't be beyond me to kill them," Vincent explained to him. He looked at Vincent with an expression of shock on his face. Vincent wasn't above threatening him, and he certainly wasn't above murdering him either. Vincent got up to leave the sitting room, so he could maybe try to talk to Ann again.

"I'm so glad that we had this little chat," Vincent said. The smile on his face was fake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we, the audience, knows for a fact that Angelina loved Vincent. However Vincent doesn't have any idea. So he interprets her silence and trying to avoid him not to be the crushing, awkwardness of a teenage girl that is hopelessly in love with her sister's lover and ashamed of it, but rather he thinks that she avoids him because she doesn't like him. Rachel just thinks that she's shy around men. But actually, we all know the truth that Angelina is deeply infatuated with Vincent and is terrified she night fuck up his sisters marriage by trying anything so she avoid him even though she's in love with him. (Which is why Vincent thinking she hates him is hilarious, at least to me.)
> 
> Not that any of it matters, because Vincent is as flaming as a man could be in that era without being executed or getting sent to a prison camp. I think he gets away with being so flamboyant because people are too afraid that he will kill them if they dare bring it up.


	24. You're Not Alone In That Crowded Room

"What are you doing?" Rachel asked. They were both in the library. Rachel was sitting in Vincent's favorite chair reading a book. Or, she was reading a book but mostly she was talking to Vincent. Whatever he was doing was probably more thrilling than the book she was reading, any how. Vincent was kneeling by the fire place in the library with a stack of photos he took of the faceless monster from his last case.

"Burning these," Vincent said. He had a match and a stack of the photos he took with the last case.

"Why?" Rachel said; she seemed curious. She tried to lean over to grab one of the photos that was laying on the floor, but Vincent grabbed from her quickly and tossed it in the fireplace before Rachel could get a good look at it.

"It's on a need to know basis," he said.

"Really? Theres never been a problem with me knowing before," Rachel said. She looked irritated with him.

"It's different this time."

"Why? Are you hiding some secret of stash of naked photos of Diederich?" she asked jokingly.

"No Rachel, I'm hiding something that I don't even understand from you," Vincent said. How could he hide something from Rachel if he didn't even have any words to describe it in the first place.

"Maybe if we talk about it, it'll help us both understand it."

"Just tell me what you make of this," Vincent said. He showed her one of the photos that was left. He pointed to the creature that was in the corner of the photgraph, just barely visible above the grain and noise.

"That is a man in a costume, Vi," Rachel said, not sounding at all impressed.

"No it's not, that is the problem. After I shot it, I saw it up close and it was inhuman. I tried cutting back the mask that was glued to it's face just to find it that it was not a mask at all. It was flesh. Then I opened it's torso to find this mouth that was about as wide as I am tall. I don't know to think, I don't know what to believe in anymore," Vincent said. He believed in rational truths, in reason. He liked the spin that Darwin had on the world. He liked to think that monsters didn't live in the woods. He liked to think that what he saw was just a man in a meat suit but he knew it wasn't. He had never dealt with this before. He had dealt with rapists, with killers, with drug cartels, with gambling rings that sold off organs for debt. But all of those things were human. They had human causes and human effects. They were done for human motives that Vincent could deduce. Vincent could understand it if a competitor killed off a flock of sheep and a farmer just to weed out the competition. He couldn't understand the inhuman thing. It didn't have a mouth to speak with. It had no fac.e It only had these massive jaws to follow men whole. It wanted nothing, save for terror. It didn't have a mptive as it speared sheep over and and over again. He could not reason with it. He could not put himself on that inhuman level, and that is what frightened him the most.

"You sounds more bothered by this than your usual killing."

"It's different than just some person killing people in a suit. That thing wasn't human. It was alive, but it had no mind."

"If this is how you're handling it, I'd hate to see how shaken up that gloomy love interest of yours is handling it,"

"He has more strength than I thought he would, and he's not my love interest," Vincent said, correcting her. Oh course, he was the things that love interests were made of but there was hardly much love between them. If anything, it was more like animosity, at least on Diederich's side of things.

"I have evidence to contradict that statement, Watchdog."

"We were high on opium and he happens to be very handsy when hes under the influence."

"Mmmm hm..."

"Rachel."

"Hmmm..."

"Nothing happened."

"Something so happened, I can tell it did. Tell me what happened," Rachel said with a smile on her face. She was anxious to know what had happened, but for once Vincent wasn't really in the mood to talk about it. Maybe because this time, unlike the past times, he had actually failed to grab the man.

With Vincent's usual gay adventures, he had one night of drunken debauchery and never called once spoke to the man again. This time, he had to confront and work with said man on a regular basis without fucking things up. It was a lot easier to be intimate with a stranger, because he'd never have to associate with him again. He could be physically intimate, just for a short time and let out a little secret of himself, but it harmless. It didn't mean anything, it just meant one night of emotionless, mechanical sexual encounters to get them both off and nothing more. There was no awkward breakfast conversation about it. But it wasn't that way with Diederich. Vincent spent time with him. They shared secrets but they didn't leave afterwards, they didn't just forget about it. That little bit of intimacy they shared with each other didn't suddenly stop being a thing when they had to get on with their lives. It was easier to be close with someone physically when you wouldn't see them again, because there was no shame involved. So what if they knew? He didn't have to do anything to impress them, or even to be friendly with them. But Vincent had to work with Diederich, and work with him on cases that involved some of the more gruesome factions of humanity.

"I kissed him. Then I kissed him again when he was sleeping. Then I tried to do it again but every time I touch him he acts as though I've just slapped him in the face and cursed him, he's so frustrating," Vincent said.

"Maybe he's asexual," Rachel said. It was a nicer explanation for his dislike of Vincent touching him then the suggestion that maybe he just hates Vincent, which was the more likely of scenarios.

"He's not asexual."

"You never know," Rachel mused. Vincent looked back at her.

"It doesn't matter anymore, I have a new case, so I can just pretend that none of this ever happened. The victims can carry on with their lives, and I can burn the evidence and start working on my new case," Vincent explained. He took the photo from Rachel and tossed it in the fireplace. Now there was no evidence of that case left at all. He had a completely blank slate in his mind to think about the new one.

"If you've gotten a new letter, then where is he now? Shouldn't he be here helping you?" Rachel asked Vincent.

"Don't you have something more interesting to talk about?" Vincent asked her. Rachel shook her head and he sighed. Of course not. Nothing was more thrilling to the ladies than casually gossiping about lovers and murder.

Vincent went to London with all the intentions of walking by Diederich's apartment. He knew exactly where it was and it wasn't that far away from his town house. Now he was idly walking through London, not even doing that much. He was procrastinating. He read the letter for the case in the park, he read again in the bookstore, as though it were a shopping list. He ended up buying a few nice mystery novels and a good nonfiction book about ritual murder. The shopkeeper gave him a funny look, and even funnier still when Vincent smiled back at him. Vincent brought the books back to his townhouse, walking there instead of hopping carriage so he could waste even more time that way. After that, he decided to procrastinate himself all the way to the bakery with one of his books. He decided that before he went to visit his assistant, he would sit in a bakery, enjoy some pastries and read a nice book on suicide. As he walked to the bakery, he could see that Diederich was also there. He was sitting by the window, by himself reading a book. Vincent ordered himself a fairy cake and sat across the room, pretending to read, but actually he was watching Diederich. He had no idea that Vincent was here. He could read a book about suicide at any time he wanted, but there was something distinctly thrilling about this particular exercise. He got to see the part of Diederich that wasn't there when Vincent was around. He seemed a lot less disagreeable when he was alone. Vincent swore he could even see him smile to himself as he ate and read the book by himself. It made Vincent question as to what he was thinking.

Vincent watched him there in silence. It was like some kind of voyeuristic private show. Diederich had no idea Vincent was there watching him there and that was the precise reason why this was so much fun. He could have been polite and greeted him then and there. Oh hello there, good afternoon, I had no idea you were here even though I have just spent the past half hour watching you. What a surprise it is to see you here. That would have been the normal thing to do. Instead, Vincent, upon realizing that Diederich hadn't noticed him at all and left the building, decided to follow him as casually as possible. He waited about one calculated minute before getting up, as to not alert anyone with a careful eye that he might be stalking someone. The fact that he had to do this avoid people thinking he was a stalker probably should have let Vincent know that what he was doing was super creepy, and yes, it was stalking. Vincent took his book and half finished fairy cake with him as he followed Diederich down the crowded street. He followed behind him about a few hundred feet, Dietrich was always barely within the span of Vincent's vision, but Vincent was so far away and casual that Diederich wouldn't have been able to spot him. He was walking in the direction of his apartment, so Vincent didn't feel so bad about it. After all, the point of him coming to London was to go visit Diederich.

Vincent watched Diederich take a quick stop in a store. He watched him enter the store, from the opposite side of the road. Vincent lit up a cigarette and nonchalantly smoked it near an alley way. He took a few glances to and from that area and when Diederich left the store with a brown paper bag, Vincent quickly finished his cigarette and continued to follow him to his apartment. When he entered the apartment building, Vincent tried to remember what side of the building he lived on. He walked around, trying to find some place where he could look into the window of Diederich's apartment. He ended up climbing the fire escape of the building just across the narrow alley way, just a floor above his apartment. Vincent had a lovely view of Diederich's living room. He sat on an area where nobody could really see him, unless of course Diederich decided to look up and across the alleyway. Plus, it was getting dark which would give Vincent a lot of cover in his little hiding spot even though less than ten feet was separating him and Diederich. He lit up another cigarette and waited there for what seemed to be hours (it was probably less than minutes) until Diederich was finally in his living room. Diederich was holding his new kitten, the ginger tabby he named, of all silly things, Alois. He held the kitten in one arm while feeding it with a small glass bottle he held in his other hand. The massive gray fluffball known as Faust sat next to them on the chair, rubbing it's head against Diederich's shoulder, trying to get his attention. Vincent could just barely hear him speaking, all of this was thanks to years of practice when it came to infiltrating and listening in on criminal activities. However, there was no crime going on here, just some cat cuddling.

"Weich kätzchen, handwarm kätzchen, wenig ball des pelz. glücklich kätzchen, schläfrig kätzchen, schnurren, schnurren, schnurren," Diederich sang softly to the kitten. Vincent covered his mouth as he laughed. He had no idea what he was singing, but he was gently singing to his cat, which would have been adorable if he was a girl. When a grown man who scared most people did it, it was just hilarious. Vincent was witnessing the rare and strange creature known as Diederich's soft side.

It of course, occurred to Vincent that he had wasted half of his day procrastinating his mission to talk to Diederich about the newest case, and then he wasted the second half of the day stalking him like prey. Now that it was nearly night time he had successfully wasted the entire day. Vincent thought he might as well get some damn work done. As Diederich was no longer in his living room, Vincent couldn't see much point in sitting there waiting for him to come back, so he climbed down the fire escape into the alley way below. He walked through London, his only destination was quite a distance away in a less savory part of the city. It was fine and good, Vincent was the scariest man out there in the dim light beneath the gas lamps anyways. He had several concealed weapons on his person at all times. He walked by a few prostitutes that were lurking underneath the dim street lamps of London. They barely illuminated the area, leaving patches of complete blackness in the night where it would be laughably easy to get away with serial murder. Hats off to the poor lighting and perpetually foggy night of London, it forever kept Vincent in good business. He was at his destination. He rapped loudly at the door of the establishment. It was past business hours but he had a feeling, there would be an answer for him anyways.

"Well, hello, hello, come over for dinner?" Undertaker asked. He reached and rapped his long black talons on Vincent's shoulder.

"Only if you've got a spot of drownings on the menu," Vincent said. Undertaker waved him in and shut the door behind them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to my good friend and adventure buddy Female Hero Yuy (that is her username on this site, CHECK HER FIC OUT, SHE ROCKS) for translating the "soft kitten" song into german for me. :D Yes that is what he sings and this is how it goes(in english)... "Soft kitten, warm kitten, little ball of fur. Happy kitten, sleepy kitten, purr, purr, purr." We all do weird things when we're home alone... admit it anonymous reader, you've done some embarrassing silly things at home alone.
> 
> The creepiness is 100% intentional. One day Diederich will witness every horrible part of Vincent. Whether or not he still loves him after that is a surprise.


	25. Waterlogged

"Well, well, watch dog, let's take a look in Undertaker's ol' office," Undertaker waved Vincent towards his basement. Vincent looked at the man's morbid decor as he walked through the room. It smelled like toxic chemicals being masked with flowers. Dried and dead roses, skeletons, and glass containers filled with unlabeled specimens and fluids decorated the entire room. Upon further notice, Vincent realized that he had decorated a small siting area with re-purposed caskets built into a coffee table and a couch. That was morbidly clever. He hadn't noticed that the first time he was here. Undertaker took out a decorative porcelain urn that was filled with bone shaped biscuits.

"Fancy a treat?" he asked, holding out a cookie. Vincent took it from him.

"Hm, carraway and cardamom," Vincent said tasting the cookie. How lucky for Undertaker that it was not actually a dog biscuit.

"They're funeral biscuits, my own recipe."

"These are delightful. You really are in the wrong business," he said, mouth full of biscuit, taking another bone shaped treat. These were truly fantastic. Undertaker, as frightening as he was, was quite a fun guy. Vincent imagined that him and Lau would be good friends if they ever met. Undertaker and Vincent were back down in the basement area where the bodies were kept.

"You should finish swallowing before I lift up the sheet," Undertaker said. Vincent swallowed the rest biscuit.

"You know, I've heard that line before, but in a much different context," Vincent mentioned. This was his attempt at humor. Undertaker looked back at him and for a second, Vincent saw that even underneath the thick silver hair, the dim candle light of the room reflected off Undertaker's green eyes as if he were a cat.

"I'm sure you have."

Undertaker pulled back the thin sheet that covered the body for modesty. Vincent already knew what to expect from the case description. He clearly had not anything else to it, save put it on the metal table to begin with. She was young, perhaps sixteen or seventeen. She had wild, curly black hair that was still wet from the river. Her body was blue, bloated and clearly the victim of the drowning. Her skin was mottled and discolored. She was wearing a thin white shift dress, hardly more than fabric scraps and covered with white peonies that were tied into her hair. Undertaker removed two more sheets revealing the second, and third girls, both in the similar condition. Drowned, water logged bodies in varying states of decay. Young girls that would have been pretty if not for the rancid state of decay in their bodies. He removed two more covering from bodies four and five, even more decayed, their features were barely visible, they were more maggots and rot and putrid slime then they were human. Even still, there were the brown mushy lumps of what were once white flowers. All five of the bodies were riddled with stab wounds and signs of being murdered. Clearly, they were trying to make it look like a suicide, but to anyone who wasn't stupid, it was obviously a murder.

"Well, that explains why they're calling the victims the Ophelias," Vincent said, prodding at a rotten white peony. He covered his mouth as the disgusting stench that filled the room. It was all putrid rotting flesh. The bodies of drowning victims went off quicker than the usual. The most decayed of the bodies were beyond embalming, only cremation could make them presentable now.

"Murder masquerading as a suicide," Undertaker said.

"Not even a good cover up," Vincent said. Either the killer was an idiot, or they were making then look like the visions of Shakespearean plays for artistic purposes. He wasn't sure which was more psychotic.

"By the way, where is that other guy?" Undertaker asked, changing the subject.

"He's not here, I figured that this case would be easy to figure out without him," Vincent said.

"Don't lie to me," Undertaker said, the tone of his voice went oddly serious and grim.

"Excuse me?" Vincent asked..

"You heard me, Vincent. I don't appreciate lies," Undertaker told him. He was quick enough to have his hand wrapped entirely around Vincent's throat, his long fingers wrapped around Vincent's throat. "There is a certain amount of trust you need to maintain in this particular, social circle. It won't do you well to betray the trust of them an feeding you information, it may even lead you into a trap."

"The truth is that I don't think he can handle this case because he's mentally ill prepared for it. Now please, I'd prefer it if you didn't leave a bruise," Vincent said. Undertaker wasn't holding him tightly enough to keep him from speaking, just tightly enough to be threatening. And probably also tight enough to leave a nasty bruise. Undertaker didn't seem like that strong of a man, he was all sickly pale skin over bones, but he was able to bend metal with a single hand. Appearances really didn't mean anything in this business.

"How is he mentally unprepared?" Undertaker asked.

"Why do you care to know?"

"Information is valuable to me, and you have yet to pay up," Undertaker said. He lifted Vincent in the air with nothing more than a single hand. Vincent knew that he was strong enough to bend metal and that trying to fight him wasn't going to get him out of this particular situation. He could kick and flail, but really, that would probably just encourage him. It was easier to give him what he wanted.

"He tried to kill himself once," Vincent said. Undertaker dropped him to the floor.

"I didn't think of you to be the kind of person to care if his underlings were damaged by the job," Undertaker mused for a second before going on, "But you don't care enough about him to keep it a secret."

"I didn't think you to be the kind of guy to strangle someone. Telling you that wouldn't hurt him but not telling you would have hurt me a great deal. You see, we humans actually need to use our windpipes," Vincent said. He reached a hand up to feel his throat. It was sore to the touch, and he was probably now sporting a very odd set of bruises.

"You're very perceptive, it surprises me that you believe in such a thing."

"I never used to, but after a certain recent event, I'm starting to believe that humans are far from alone on this planet," Vincent explained.

"You're a better conversationalist than you are a kisser," Undertaker told him.

"I don't know if I should be insulted by a statement like that or not."

Vincent looked back at the poor water logged girls. We wondered who was the one to find them first. Maybe it was some poor children from the work houses who were playing by the filthy waterways who just managed to poke at the corpse with a stick. Even worse, it could be one their parents. Vincent wondered if they had parents at all, or if they could be identified. The girls were all listed as unidentified, nobody had yet stepped up to claim the bloated, rotting girls to be of their kinship. They could have been anything, though it was unlikely that the daughter of a wealthy family would be unnoticed for long enough to rot into that, unless she was estranged from her family. He guessed that in a short amount of time, families would be stepping forward or there would be some girls reported as missing. Even the oldest and most putrid of the bodies couldn't have been missing for a very long time. It was a waiting game to see if the victims had any commonality except for their identical dress.

"Where were these bodies found?" Vincent asked.

"In the thames, were the suicidal girls usually get dragged up," Undertaker said, "Ain't much different than your usual suicides in terms of dumping, but I've never seen a suicidal girl stab herself up and drape herself with posies before jumping."

"You've seen them jump?"

"I had a different job title back then, I wasn't allowed to do anything," Undertaker explained. Vincent wasn't so sure that was the entire story behind it.

"And now?" Vincent asked.

"Business is business," Undertaker said.

"Wait," Vincent said, holding up a finger.

"Hm?"

"Get me a scalpel," Vincent said. Undertaker handed him the scalpel.

Vincent looked at the girls carefully. He picked one of the least rotten ones and held his breath as he touched the slimy corpse and flipped her on her back. He carefully pulled up the dress so that the back of her torso was now visible. Vincent felt around her ribs, and lifted the scalpel. He cut into her back, underneath the rib cage. The rotting flesh cleaved apart easily, allowing him to slide the lung out of chest cavity. It gave way with a gentle tug. Part of the lung, already blue and soggy peeked out from the slit. Vincent took the scalpel and cut a hole in he lung. Fetid rot water poured out from the lung. The stench was particularly foul. He tucked the lung back in her chest cavity and flipped her right side over. Then he saw the next slightly less disgusting corpse and repeated the same procedure, also had water in her lungs. It would have been in better judgement and values to test this theory on all of them, but the smell of rotting flesh in the room was already enough as it currently stood. He could assume the others had water-filled lungs.

"What are you doing?" Undertaker said, looking over Vincent's shoulder as he washed his hands in a large sink.

"These girls' lungs are full of water. They must have been alive when the killer tossed her into the river and died from drowning and blood loss combined," Vincent explained.

"If they threw her in while she was alive, how did they get her to sit still enough to dress her up with flowers?"

"Drugs, probably. Opium would be a good bet, it would make her complacent and unaware of the surroundings, and if they gave her enough she wouldn't be able to move much either."

"You know a lot about that, don't you?" Undertaker asked him.

"Oh you know us aristocrats, all of our past times involve poisoning someone," Vincent said.

The next day, Vincent had gotten up late that morning, having slept in. He put on a high collared shirt and a cravat to make sure that the bruises around his neck were well and covered. His entire throat was now a tender sore spot, but he was expecting that when his head hit the pillow. For some reason, it felt less like a warning to never speak to Undertaker again, and more like a fond reminder of what was going to be a very interesting friendship. He was under the impression that Undertaker could dispose of him at any second, and he wouldn't be able to do anything about it, and the fact that he didn't was almost comforting. Vincent would be lying if he didn't think he was just a little bit special, but he always thought of himself as something special. This time he was going to go through London again and try to make some sort of progress at talking to Diederich that didn't involve stalking him through London. Sure, stalking him was a great way to spend an afternoon and part of the evening, but it didn't actually accomplish anything when it came to solving the Ophelia case. Vincent would like to at least like to have some kind of game plan before another girl got drowned in the river. His current game plan was to talk to Diederich and not fuck it up this time. Easy enough.

"What gruesome dead bodies would you like to look at today?" Diederich asked.

"None, actually," Vincent said. Fuck. He lied again. He was going to ask him this time. He was going to approach the subject to him gently and slowly. Nope. Not this time. He actually managed to come over here to face him like a normal human being, and now for some reason, he was being too stupid to actually speak with him. Vincent wasn't sure why he was this way, he didn't want to, but every time he tried, his stupidity gland took over and he was back in liarsville.

"I find that very hard to believe that you would come to London to bother me for no reason."

"Maybe I wanted a passionate kiss," Vincent suggested.

"Go look elsewhere."

"Alright, that joke was in poor taste," Vincent faked condolence to satisfy him. "Can't we be friends?"

"Friends don't show up at their friends houses uninvited without bringing lunch."

"Are you telling me that you're not going to talk to me unless I buy you lunch?"

"I'm telling you that it would sweeten me up," he responded.

"Sweetness and lunch? Dee, it sounds like you want me to take you out on a romantic date, doesn't it?" Vincent asked. He smiled at Diederich, who was quite visibly upset at this point.

"That was unintended," Diederich said. He looked so flustered, it would have been funny if Vincent was doing it on purpose this time.

"You can't take it back now, let's go out on a date," Vincent insisted. Maybe then he'd actually get in enough time to carefully explain the whole suicide situation.

"You're so indecent, I wouldn't go anywhere with you. If you don't want anything, then leave me alone," Diederich said. He was in a nasty mood. He didn't respond well to flattery and come ons. Vincent's charm was useless on him.

"You're so disagreeable," Vincent said, and then the door closed in his face. Very disagreeable indeed. This entire outing had been a complete and utter failure.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you reading this, you are officially 1/4th of the way through Crossing Lines, and I am so very, very thankful that you are reading this. I hope that you'll stick it through to the end because I have to say that I am so very proud and prideful about this fic and I think it's the best fic ever written, and I truly hope that you will love it as much as I do. I get so excited every time I update because I'm just so anxious (in a happy way!) to share this story with you, because it's something I'm working really hard on and the outcome so far has made me proud of myself. So thank you for reading, thank you for you for commenting, and I hope that we'll have lots of fun together in future updates. This is me sending love, appreciation and glitter to you - (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧


	26. Take A Seat Over There

It had been two weeks since Vincent went to London to look at the bodies. The developments in the case had been slow, but they  
did turn out, at least to some effect. All of the murdered girls were identified by their parents and the girls were given funerals and buried by their grieving, sobbing families who not only had to deal with the tragedy of their child's death, but also the disgusting knowledge that the person responsible for this had gone unidentified. Not a single connection between the victims had been found. All of them were average girls of average lives. They came from families that went without rivalries. They were boring people. Scotland Yard just ignored everyone, because they were damn bloody useless. The fact that the queen actually had to hire a private watchdog to clean up all of their fuck ups with the more... underground cases was proof enough of their sheer incompetence. Yet, when some thing good happened it was always: thank the police, or thank the hardworking men over at the yard for keeping the streets safe at night. Never was it, let's thank this hardworking man who has to do the vast majority of this work by-his-fucking-self. Sure, the yard did handle more cases than Vincent did, but they had teams of people working on a case. They had a group of investigators, they had a group of spies, they had chemists and researchers to look to for help. Vincent had a cookie-baking mortician and the human incarnation of grumpy cat.

Vincent was in the library again, sitting on the comfortable chairs by the fireplace. He had a glass full of gin and Rachel to keep him company, who was also drinking this afternoon. It was warm and comfortable in the library with the fire crackling faintly as background noise and the smell of old books. Rachel sat across from him on a stuff chair, writing in a fancy looking notebook, the cover was pale pink with gilded floral embellishments on it. Vincent would have asked what it was that she was writing but he actually didn't want to know. Rachel was minding her own business and he was sulking about with a newspaper, looking for anything in recent events around London that might have been suspicious. It was mostly filled stupid, stupid, stupid gossip and things that he couldn't even pretend to care about, not even out of politeness towards the hardworking and bored writers employed at the paper. He sighed and turned the page of the paper. Rachel was looking up at him, her large blue eyes were just staring down at him. Vincent didn't want to ask what, or be the first one to speak so they spent an uncomfortable thirty seconds of stillness. The were staring each other down, waiting for the other to break down and be the first person to say something.

"You're being so weird about this, if you're having trouble then go ask Diederich for help," Rachel told him.

"No."

"Damn it Vincent, just go over there and do something."

"I'm looking over advertisements for more missing girls," Vincent said. See? He totally was doing something about this case. Sometimes it's easy to identify a body, some times it isn't. Right now he wasn't finding much in the way of looking for missing girls. For once the young ladies of the greater London area weren't running off. There were no new possibilities of kidnappings, so presumably that meant that there wouldn't be another soggy corpse covered with white flowers showing up in the Thames.

"Why is it so hard for you to talk to him? Did you do something stupid?" Rachel asked him. No he didn't, at least not all too recently. It was less of a 'what did Vincent do to offend him today?' question, and more of a 'I'm really trying my best to avoid offending him for once, alright?' question.

"I do a lot of stupid things, and it doesn't make him have to listen to me any less," Vincent explained.

"Then what is different this time?" Rachel asked, it appeared as though she was quickly getting annoyed with Vincent avoiding the act of telling her the truth.

"I don't know."

"You do know, you just don't want to tell me about it," Rachel said. She sounded just a little bit offended, but there was really nothing Vincent could do. He wasn't about to out Diederich's secret to Rachel. It was bad enough that Undertaker had him in a choke hold and forced it out of him. Rachel would never threaten to kill him over such a thing. She'd just sigh, and shun him and be mildly irritated about it for a few hours and then forget about it. There was no risk in not telling her, so Vincent said nothing in regards to that secret, as far as Diederich knew, his mouth was sealed, and Vincent wasn't about to admit to him that Undertaker got it out of him with a quick hand gesture.

"Hello," Alexis said. Vincent looked up at him. Vincent was in the parlor with a small snack of tea and cookies. Frances had invited Alexis to visit there today. Vincent wanted to say hello, and maybe spend some quality time cajoling some terror into the poor young man who had the absolute misfortune of seducing his normally prim, proper and repressed younger sister.

"Good afternoon, Alexis," Vincent said, a friendly smile on his face, "Care to join me for some tea?"

Alexis nodded nervously as Vincent pointed to the chair sitting across from his own. He was still studying at Weston college, and Vincent knew from many years of experience that the boys at that school got almost no time off at all unless they were to sneak off the premises. This means that Alexis not only must have worked himself to the bone to get all of his work done ahead of time in order to plan for some time off campus, but that whatever time he did get was precious little. How sweet it was that he was expending such efforts to court Frances. However, Vincent knew the real reason why. While most boys (Vincent definitely was included in this category) made do with having sexual relations with the more effeminate students (there was one reason only why Chambers was well liked at Weston), Alexis well, it wouldn't work for him. He was painfully heterosexual. Oh no, instead of buggering the other students he had to go off campus and find his way far beyond the outskirts of London to seduce innocent young ladies of the highest esteem. Alright, so Frances wasn't that innocent, begin a Phantomhive and all, but really. Vincent was no stranger to the ideas of raging hormones and desperation, but he had to say that he wasn't at all pleased with what transpired while he was away.

"If I find out that there's been some, untoured, funny business, between you and my sister, I will gut you using this," Vincent said, brandishing an ornate letter opener. It was kind of sharp and shaped like ornate cavalier sword. It was fashioned out of gold with an inlay of sapphires, it was not at all a device suited to gutting a man. It probably wouldn't even do much except put out an eye, but if worse came to worse, Vincent would find a way to make it work. The way Alexis shook was proof of that.

"Sir, that is, a uh, letter opener," Alexis said.

"It will be slow," Vincent said, looking at Alexis straight in the eye. The tone of his voice was unusually severe and grim, devoid of the usual good humor and politeness he put on for those he didn't know well enough. Alexis burst into tears and ran out of the room. Vincent had no idea how he managed to have sex with Frances.

"Vincent, what the hell!" Frances barged into the room just minutes later from Vincent's lovely little 'chat' with Alexis. He tea hadn't even gotten cold before Frances came forth to defend her beau's honor.

"What hell? Hell is a fictional place, Frances."

"You know exactly what you did! Why is Alexis is crying?!"

"I don't see what the big deal is. I told him if he touched you I would gut him with a letter opener."

"He's terrified!"

"Good!"

"Damn you," Frances said. She was being melodramatic.

"He only has reason to fear a threat like that if he's been touching you in a way that I find to be untoured funny business, which he has," Vincent told her. If Alexis didn't want his life threatened by Vincent Phantomhive, then he shouldn't have gone and done something that pissed him off. It was only common sense.

"You don't get to decide what is and isn't appropriate for me."

"You are so blinded by your infatuation with him that I would honestly being doing you a favor by killing him."

"If you kill him, see what happens."

"Is that a threat?"

"His parents are part of an esteemed family. They work with Queen Victoria, how will you answer her call if she finds that a young man of the Queen's Knights has suddenly gone missing? Do think she'll take 'he ran away' as an answer?"

"I've been cornered," Vincent said. Damn it. Frances was good at strategy. Sometimes he felt like he and Frances were just a little too much alike. They were too cunning for their own, and any arguments between them were a stalemate.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter in which Vincent continually has no idea how to respect the personal boundaries of others.


	27. My Sword Is For Your Heart Only

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made this AWESOME video for Catacombs You should watch it!
> 
> tinyurl.com/2fcpre6

"How did you get in my apartment?" Diederich asked Rachel. He didn't expect to come home to find her in his place of residence. She was sitting in his living room and she pet a loudly purring Faust, who was happily sitting on her lap. She had made tea. She had not only broken into his apartment, made friends with his cat, but she had raided through his kitchen and made herself at home. She even had a cup of tea of tea poured for him. He sat down across from her. Faust was purring loudly as she scritched behind his ears. Rachel seduced him with cuddles. Cuddles and scratchies. Alois, the small tabby kitten was sleeping on a pillow next to the fire place.

"Vin has a copy of the key and I took it out of his coat pocket," Rachel said with a smile. She had soft, beautiful features but it wasn't a good idea to discount her based on any of these.

"I never gave Vincent a copy of my apartment key."

"You two have a lot of relationship problems to work out."

"What are we, women?" Diederich asked in an exasperated tone. He took a sip of tea, hoping that it would calm his nerves. It did not.

"If you were women, you two would have a shred of common sense to work it out already," Rachel corrected him and sipped on the tea slowly. Her cutting wit was perfectly with Vincent, except she was kinder and seemed less dangerous, though she probably wasn't.

"I don't have problems with Vincent, well, except the obvious ones," Diederich said.

"Which are?" Rachel asked.

"He's dragged me into a life of murder," Diederich said. He was a normal person, damn it. But Vincent had to come along and drag him kicking and screaming into this world of darkness he would've been happier not knowing about. It would have been nice if he could sleep at night without knowing what sort of monster existed. Not just metaphorical monsters like Vincent, either, but literal biblical demon monsters that lived in the woods and killed people without conscious thought.

"Alright, let me tell you something about Vincent, he's a little deranged... his head isn't quite normal," Rachel said.

"He tried to stab me in the face."

"Well, just ignore whatever other stupids thing he's done this time and help him out with this case. Be patient with him. He can't help it if he can be a little rough sometimes, it's just who he is."

"He told me there wasn't a case."

"Did he now? I'll have to go talk with him," Rachel said. She sounded angry and dangerous.

"Can I have that key back?" Diederich asked her.

"No."

"You're going to tell Vincent about this, aren't you?"

"Every word."

Vincent Phantomhive had heard Rachel's lecture and promised her that he'd go talk to Diederich. He totally blew it off to go talk to Undertaker. Undertaker was a fun guy, he had good ideas. It was nice to bounce ideas and theories off of him because he'd reply with some crazy shit that rules out a lot of ideas. Like, he was totally out of his skull but so was Vincent so as long as they didn't try to kill each other they got along really well. Once someone got used to the constant smell of preservatives, half-dead floral arrangements and rotting flesh hanging out in his shop wasn't bad. Or at least it was preferable to spending time with Rachel, who nagged at him even knowing that he probably wouldn't do them. Or Diederich, who would most likely kick him out anyways because Vincent had forgotten about that not-a-date invitation to lunch, which he was totally going to count as a date. Undertaker and him went back and forth over the crime scene, Undertaker making sick jokes here and there. Vincent really hoped that he didn't put bodies in the cookies, but even if he did, these were still some delicious damn cookies. It was after hours and he was sitting on the casket couch next to Undertaker, both of them resting their feet on his coffintable. They were drinking wine out of the bottle and eating cookies. It was after hours but someone had so rudely intruded upon them, forcing open the locked door.

"What is this?" Diederich asked.

"How do you find me here?" Vincent asked back.

"Tanaka."

"Damn," Vincent said. Tanaka wouldn't have said something to Diederich unless he believed it was good for Vincent. He was meddlesome but he only had good intentions. Which made it impossible for Vincent to be mad at him, now he was only angry at Diederich. Really. He had gotten twicefold meddling today and he didn't like it one bit when others did that to him. He had to blame it on someone.

"Is there a reason why you've chosen to ignore me?" Diederich asked. He sounded really angry, but that seemed to be the default for him being in the same area as Vincent. The only times where Vincent had not seen him in obvious discomfort were when he had no idea Vincent was around.

"He's afraid you'll react badly to seeing a bunch of girls looking like they drowned themselves because you tried to off yourself," Undertaker said. He sounded tipsy, which made Vincent become aware that they were both probably both slurring a bit.

"You told this psychopath about me?" Diederich asked, his voice sounded hurt and betrayed. It shot Vincent like a silver bullet.

"I had to strangle it out of him, hee hee~ he's got such a supple neck, You're lucky he invites your lips to it," Undertaker said. He reached and pulled back Vincent's collar, showing the bruises before putting Vincent in a choke hold again, but thankfully without choking him. His inhumanly fingers on one hand would wrap around Vincent's neck loosely.

"Don't say such perverse things," Diederich told Undertaker. Undertaker let go of Vincent's neck and grabbed a hold of Diederich's arm and pulled him to sit on the couch.

"Now, now, why don't you loosen up and enjoy a treat, hm?" Undertaker waved a biscuit in his face.

"Did you tell him to call me a dog too?!" Diederich snapped.

"They're actually tea biscuits made for human consumption. Calm yourself," Vincent said. He patted him on the shoulder and wrapped his arm around him. He was drunk, wasn't he? He didn't think he was drunk and yet he was, getting a little to comfortable in between two men who probably wouldn't have too much guilt over killing him in his sleep if he blacked out.

"Do your human thing.. .breathe in, breathe out Undertaker stroked him. Diederich only became more riled up.

"Diederich,calm that nasty temper of yours?"

"Nasty? I'll tell you what is nasty, everything about your personality!"

"Alright, can you at least try to understand that I didn't want to tell you because I was trying to be understanding and considerate," Vincent pleaded. He felt light headed. He was in no shape to have this kind of conversation and he had the looming fear that acting out in the presence of Undertaker could get someone killed. He was like a python. Just hold your breath and he'll let you go, but if you scream and gasp for air, he'll strangle the life out of you. Again he was trying to be kind and his flattery was mistaken for condescension.

"I'm not fragile, it's not as though I would go and hang myself if you dared use the word suicide in front of me. You just don't trust me enough, and you mistake me for a child," Diederich said.

"I do trust you, I just want to not push you into a job that will hurt you when I don't have to," Vincent told him. He knew how painful it was to do this job, he wanted to think, that maybe, maybe he could be less horrible. But no, he couldn't. He was trying to be kind and instead he had come off cruel There could be no winning at this game. If he was cruel, then he was cruel. If he was kind, then he was still cruel and there was no getting it through his thick skull that his intentions were amiable.

"And you just assume what I can and can't handle without asking me? If that is what you're calling consideration, then you're even more horrible of a person then I thought," Diederich told him. Vincent was going to need another bottle to drown these feelings and a nice, fat opium cigarette.

"You're both horrible people," Undertaker told them. They looked at him. He was laughing at them.

"I think for once you can give me credit for putting in the effort to be less horrible," Vincent said. He remembered that he had an opium cigarette. He took out his cigar case and his lighter out of his pocket and lit it up. He inhaled and some how the world seemed like friendlier place.

"This altruism suits you as well as that dress," Diederich said.

"Would you rather I treat you like a sadist?" Vincent asked.

"It would be less condescending."

"Since you want it so badly," Vincent said. He took a deep drag from the cigarette and planted in Diederich's hand, the ashes burning a circular indentation on the back of his hand. Diederich looked down at him with a scowl and casually flicked the cigarette away. Maybe Vincent hadn't pushed hard enough. Undertaker was laughing hysterically. He fell off the couch and clutched his stomach.

Diederich and Vincent left Undertaker's place of business and most likely also residence. They had spent quite some time going over the case and going through Undertaker's well-stocked liquor cabinet. It was late at night, well past midnight and the streets were a shade or two above black even with the dim street lamps lighting the streets. They walked together in a silence, Vincent was pleasant buzzed. He glanced down at the circular second degree burn wound on Diederich's hand. He wasn't moving in a way that showed that he was injured, though Vincent took a guess and said he was doing that on purpose. He didn't want Vincent to have the satisfaction of seeing that he was in pain, and he was good at hiding it. Vincent wondered what else he was hiding behind that face. Probably more pain. They were passing a bridge over a filthy waterway. A lithe girl, no more than a teenager was standing there. She was looking down, leaning over the side of the bridge. She looked scared and her skin was pale, her skin looked sweaty even in the dim light. When she looked over at the two men, her dark brown eyes were wide and manic. She looked as though she was in the middle of a panic attack, breathing heavily.

"What are you doing?" Vincent asked. They both ran towards her. She could have been one of the targets. She fit the mold. Teenager with long, flowing hair. She would look beautiful decorated with white flowers. She looked back over at the bridge and tried tried to hop over. Diederich grabbed a hold of her by the waist and pulled her away from the railing. He let go of her.

"Is someone trying to force you to jump?" Vincent asked. She could be the next target.

"N-no," she said with her voice stammering.

"Is someone trying to threaten your life?" Vincent asked her politely. She looked down at her shaking hands, trying not to make eye contact with him.

"Why would anyone do such a thing?" she asked them, her voice was full of pleading. Unlike Diederich, she didn't know how to hide her pain. Had it been any other group of young men, the poor girl would have been dead or worse by now. Lucky her, the men she ran into in the dead of night were not the kind of men who had any interest in sexual assault.

"We are detectives and lately there has been a murderer targeting young women. We'll escort you home."

"I promise we are actual detectives," Diederich said.

"We work with the Yard," Vincent lied. It sounded more legit than 'Her Majesty's Royal Hitmen'. Plus it's not like the average teenage girl really had any way of verifying that information. Really, it would have been two easy for any two men to find her, claim they were with the yard, get her some place private and then rape, and usually, murder her after the rape. How original. She clearly did not know about anyone threatening people there. Vincent had a feeling that she tried to throw herself of her own accord, which gave him only more reason that he should see her safely home, despite how suspicious the two of them most likely appeared to her. It wouldn't stop her from pursuing other methods; but there were enough dead bodies dredged up from the waterways around London as it was. They didn't need any more.


	28. Do Not Repent Your Force-Fed Chrysalis

"That was an odd experience," Diederich said.

It was now well past both of their bed times, and it was closer to dawn than it was to any other time of day but the sun had not risen. He was visibly tired and he had very little endurance when it came to sleep deprivation. Vincent however, had no problem, though he was starting to get a bit of a withdrawal headache from the lack of intoxication in his system. He took out another opium cigarette and lit it. He inhaled and exhaled quietly as they walked together in some direction. He wasn't sure who was leading or who was following at this point. They had left the girl at her home. Her name was Hortensia. She spoke with quiet words and looked at them like she suspected them of wanting to hurt her. It was hard for Vincent to come up with something to say hat would exonerate him for the accusations of evil intent. He was evil, but his evil intent wasn't meant to be directed near this girl. The burn mark on Diederich's hand was proof of that. Maybe Hortensia was surprised when they left her with a goodbye. Maybe she was expecting that they'd come back to finish the job, so to say. Perhaps she was too used to people directing cruelty towards her, and it drove her to try to kill herself. So much that when someone was actually trying to be nice to her, she suspected it to be a front for something else. It could have been murder, but it wasn't.

"I'm not sure how to feel about this case," Vincent said.

"Look over there," Diederich said.

"What?" Vincent asked, taking the cigarette out of his mouth. He looked over, and saw a man and a woman. It was nearing dawn but it wasn't yet time for people to start heading to work. The streets were empty, save for himself and Diederich. It was not at all normal to see two people walking around, but further more, they were walking around with a large black sack. They were both holding onto each end and were slowly but surely walk to some destination.

"Follow them," Vincent whispered. They watched the two suspicious people carefully, always several hundred feet behind them. Vincent was a pro at stalking people through the streets of London.

The couple stopped a few times, they were clearly out of breath. This was the way that people behaved when they were out of shape, and unused to carrying heavy things. Like bodies. They gently set the bag down on the ground when they needed to rest as if it contained something precious and fragile. Vincent and Diederich followed them through the dark streets, hiding in the shadows. The two people walked to a bridge, carefully carrying the black sack towards a bridge. They looked back and forth, looking to make sure that nobody was watching. Clearly, they weren't looking very well because the Queen's Watchdog was watching them closely. Vincent handed a gun to Diederich. Vincent took out a second pistol and held it close to his person. They watched as the couple opened up the bag, revealing a young woman, in a white dress, flowers bedecked around her. She was already disheveled from being carried around. The woman gasped and made a cross over her chest, muttering inaudibly to himself. Vincent ran over, his gun held close to this person. Diederich followed behind him slowly. The man and woman gasped at him. Vincent had the gun pointed at the woman.

"Am I to presume that you're the one who put that poor girl in her grave?" he asked, his voice was terse and full of hatred. The girl lay there, covered with stab wounds that bled slowly into the white of her shift dress.

"Please, let us explain," the woman pleaded, looking down the girl.

"Start talking," Vincent said, the barrel touched her temple. Her husband had tears in his eyes.

"This is our daughter. She committed suicide but the church won't let us bury her with us if they knew. A few people in our area whose children have done the same thing. Their children were buried in the family plot. We saw that they had mistaken it for a murder so we did the same thing," the woman said. Her tears fell down on the corpse of her child. Her husband looked sullen and vacant, flecks of her blood were on his hands. These were not murders. These were sad, desperate parents who didn't wish for their child to be shamed after her demise. There was really nothing Vincent could not to protect them.

"So you're committing fraud?" Vincent asked. He sounded cruel and tense, but it was mostly an act. He did feel just the slightest bit of sorrow, but there was no going easy on them.

"Yes," the man said. A full confession. How easy.

"Pick the girl up, Diederich. We're taking these two to the yard. Let them handle the rest of it," Vincent said.

Diederich grimaced and pulled the sack over the girl's corpse. He picked her up easily, but was clearly bothered by the gross smell of rotting flesh, blood, and dying flowers. Nobody said being a personal corpse delivery service would be fun. Vincent had his gun pointed at the two people as he walked them all the way to the nearest station that he knew the yard was sitting. It was almost nearing dawn, it was most likely just a bit past four o clock in the morning. People had not yet awoken, so there was nobody looking onto Vincent marching them through town with his pistol in hand while the two parents sobbed. The four of them stayed silent during this solemn occasion. Vincent took no pleasure in it. This was not like shooting Druitt in the foot, or killing his father. He couldn't derive pleasure in this but it had to be done. These people were heartbroken, but this was the queen's will. The people at the yard would not be happy.

"Knock on the door," Vincent commanded the man. He knocked on it loudly. A groggy older man with ageing skin answered the door. Vincent had woken him up. Good morning inspector Randall. Wake up and smell the corpses.

"Sleeping while on the all night shift, are you, Randall?" Vincent said, sneering at Randall. He was a few years older than Vincent and gave him an attitude. Vincent gave it back with interest.

"Get your shit together, if you want to be inspector, you're doing a bloody awful job at it. Take these into questioning for the Ophelia killings and stop making me do your work for you, you pathetic son of a bitch."

"Good morning, Phantomhive," Randall said scowling at him. He sighed and took out two pairs of handcuffs from his pockets.

"You two are under arrest," Randall said. The two held out their hands willingly for him as they cried. Diederich set the girls corpse gently on the door step of the building.

"Can I have that apartment key of mine that you stole?" Diederich asked.

"No."

"Vincent, hand it over," Diederich said, holding out his hand. Vincent stared up at him defiantly. "Now."

"Why?" Vincent asked him. He knew why. Because he made an illegal copy of his key. Which didn't matter because even if he didn't have the key he could always pick the lock, or go in through the window. It honestly made not the slightest bit of difference in outcome as to whether or not.

"Because if you want to get into my home you are going to have to be polite and ask for it like everyone else."

"I think we're close enough to share keys."

"We are not."

"If I wanted to I could break in, you know."

"You try that and I'll punch you in the groin so hard your progeny will be sterile."

"Hey now. Don't go ruining things for yourself," Vincent said. Diederich glared at him. Vincent didn't want to risk it. Vincent sighed and took the key out of his pocket. He could always just break in. Or stalk him again. He placed the key in Diederich's hand.

"Thank you."

"I'm coming back later because I'm taking you out tonight. Dress nicely and take a bath because you smell like a corpse."

"Are you serious?" Diederich asked.

"I am so serious."

"I don't get a choice with you, do I?"

"Well you could, but then I wouldn't pay you..." Vincent said. He was holding Diederich's pay check for ransom and the ransom was one night out with Vincent. The location of it would not be disclosed. It didn't matter because unless Diederich liked not being paid, he'd follow Vincent wherever he went. That is what the rules were.

"You're a bastard, you know that?"

"I'm not a bastard, I just know how to get what I want out of you," Vincent said. He also knew how to manipulate the fact that Diederich was too exhausted from an all-nighter to argue with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing fanfiction gives me the chance to show my practice to the public since even my closest friends have never read whole portions of my original books. Creating art is a very private, very personal thing for me (I never create in the presence of others, it just won't happen) so it's fun to get a chance to share it. :)


	29. This Above All- To Thine Own Self Be True

Vincent decided that he wanted to see a play tonight. Some casual entertainment to take away the bad after images that dead girl left in his mind. Her parents had confessed to the fraud. All of the families of the the 'murdered' girls came forward and spoke the truth. Al of the girls were exhumed from their family plots and dumped in some shoddy graves reserved for the heretics that killed themselves. That was the law. Under the church of england, the bodies of heathens that defied church law were not allowed to be placed in the family plot. Since the church of england and the law walked hand in hand down a road paved with hatred and deceit, there was nothing else to be done. The families had to grieve not once, but twice. Once for their child'a death, and a second time for their eternal separation. They were fined heavily and put in jail. They probably lost everything for that. It disgusted Vincent that such a thing happened. He needed a nice evening to distract him from it. The pleasures and hedonism would bring his mind to a more pleasant place. He had his private box on reserve, a few bottle of wine set away, and a his monogrammed metal cigar case was stuffed with opium cigarettes. Now all he needed was a hot date who secretly hated him and everything would be complete.

"Haven't you had enough of Ophelia?" Diederich asked him. He sat down next to Vincent on the comfortable couch that was in his private box. Vincent handed him a cream colored envelope full of ill-gotten money.

"Nonsense, Hamlet is my favorite play," Vincent said.

"Because you're a murderer with father issues?"

"No, because it was the only play I've ever been a part of, it makes me think of happy memories," Vincent admitted. He poured himself a stem glass full of wine and lit up a cigarette. He was smiling and he wasn't even sure why.

"Ah yes, I remember that," Diederich said.

"You do?" Vincent asked him.

"After your cohort pretended to not speak english for the sake of pissing off the teachers, I got a dozen ys because every one else thought I was also pretending."

"I don't think I ever spoke to you before we were prefects," Vincent said. He poured Diederich a glass of wine and handed it to him.

"Because you spent your time at Weston being a damned trouble maker and making me do all the work for you," Diederich said. Ah yes, many times had Vincent managed to 'disappear' off to his night job as the Queen's Dog during his scheduled prefect duties. Clearly Diederich was the one that fell on. What the prefects of Red and Violet house were doing, Vincent would never know; but he didn't didn't care. The work got done by someone at one point or another. Hey, Diederich better not complain. At least now he was getting paid for doing Vincent's dirty work.

"Hey now, I was sleeping on the lawn because I passed out from exhaustion after a case."

"I will have no sympathy for the devil," Diederich said. How strict he was. Vincent could remind him of how he slept more than most people, or that he fell asleep in far worse places than the lawn at Weston college.

"Sssh...Drink your wine. It'll make you like me more."

"Hello boys," Undertaker said. He had one cold, bony hand on Vincent's shoulder, his ring studded fingers rapped against his shoulder. Vincent turned around and looked up at him. He had removed the large black over coat he wore and was dressed in what appeared to be a priest's robe. The bottom buttons were all missing revealing the long, shiny leather boots he wore that were bedecked with rows of buckles. On his fingers were several garishly large rings, the jewels even larger than Vincent's own blue diamond ring. It was past the point of tacky, no doubt he had stolen them. An Undertaker could never afford such finery. He had a string of prayer beads of an eastern style around his neck, and a peculiar belt wrapped around his lithe waist. From a quick glance he could tel right away they were all momento mori pendants. A western priest, eastern monk, and most clearly a strange collector of various death related ephemera. He looked disgraceful coming to a fine play wearing such an outfit, and into the private box of an earl, none the less. Tsk, tsk, Undertaker. Tsk, tsk, tsk.

"How the hell did you get in my private box, and what blind arsehole would let you in here dressed like that?" Vincent asked. Diederich was staring at Undertaker's belt of momento mori pendants.

"I have my ways of getting in to places," Undertaker said, shrugging. He took Vincent's glass and drank the rest of his wine, which had a good two thirds of the glass of wine left in it. He set it down on the small table with an uncouth clink. Vincent looked at the empty glass, then back up at Undertaker, his face was plastered with contempt. He rudely brushed his way here uninvited, ruined what could have been a lovely private outing, drank his wine, and he didn't even bother to get dressed appropriately for the occasion. What an insult. Vincent wanted to kick him right in the ass.

"Think of this as payment for my services," Undertaker said. He sat down on Vincent's lap even though there was ample room for three of them to sit there on the couch, and wrapped his arms around Vincent's shoulders. While Vincent would have liked to spend this evening with someone's arms wrapped around him, this was not the man he had in mind.

"Excuse me, I made you laugh."

"No, you got me high. Giving me a real bout of laughter is something else entirely."

"You're really insatiable," Vincent said to Undertaker.

"I know a guy just like that..." Diederich told him.

"Oh you shut up, I make perfectly reasonable requests of you," Vincent said.

"Really? Do you? Do you really? Would you like me to repeat some of the things you've asked me to do?" Diederich asked.

"I want to know when you two got married."

"Shut up you weird old man!" Diederich said.

"You shut up child, lest you want me to break yer gun in half this time!"

"I didn't bring a gun with me," Diederich argued.

"That wasn't what I was talking about," Undertaker informed him. His cheeks flushed and Vincent laughed.

"The play is going to start soon and you are blocking my view," Vincent said to Undertaker.

"I'm quite comfortable," Undertaker said. Of course he was. He had the finest seat in the house. But Vincent couldn't see anything but a veil of silver hair in front of him.

"My legs are going to go numb," Vincent complained. Undertaker let out a boisterous sigh.

"Such a pain," Undertaker said, as if he had any right at all to complain. He moved himself so he was now sharing the couch with Vincent and Diederich, laying sideways with his legs sprawled over Vincent and Diederich's laps, one arm wrapped around around Vincent.

"This is very rude," Diederich complained, glaring down Undertaker. In some ways he was quite similar to a dog. Right now he was being unusually territorial, as if he wanted Vincent all to himself. Perhaps that was just wishful thinking on Vincent's behalf, or perhaps not. Vincent was hoping Diederich would start biting Undertaker.

"Look at this face of mine caring," Undertaker retorted, pointing to his face with a long black nail. Of course, he had a snide smirk and the rest of his face was obscured by that thick hair of his. Just a bit of scar was showing across his cheeks and his neck. Hm, perhaps thats why he seemed to have such a fascination with putting his hands around the necks of others. The lights in the theater went dim, and it was time for the play to start.

"I'll be back in a few," Undertaker said. The lights were brightened again, as it was time during the intermission. Vincent sighed when Undertaker got up. His legs had this, prickling, numb sensation. Diederich looked over his shoulder, craning his neck so he could see down the hall from the box. Undertaker wasn't in sight. Diederich moved a bit closer to Vincent.

"Do you know anyone named Claudia?" Diederich asked him, speaking quietly so that only Vincent could hear him.

"My mother's name was Claudia. Why do you care?" Vincent asked.

"I saw a pendant on his belt, it said Claudia P. on it," Diederich explained.

"I'm entirely sure there are plenty of Claudia's out there. Maybe they're his exlovers," Vincent suggested, "Or maybe they're stolen. I doubt a mortician can afford the kind of jewelry he has. Hell, he probably stole that priest's robe too."

"Such disgraceful rumors, really Earl..." Undertaker whispered loudly in Vincent's ear, startling the both of them. They both flinched in surprise again at his voice. Undertaker ruffled Diederich's hair with his long fingers. God damn him, how the hell did he sneak up on people like that. Vincent considered himself to have a good situational awareness, but that man was quieter than Tanaka, and Tanaka was a damn ninja.

"Fucking hell! How the fuck do you do that?!" Diederich hissed. He turned red with anger. He looked like he was about to bite Undertaker's damn hand off and throw it.

"You'll never know, but while I did steal this robe, the rest of this was gotten fairly~" Undertaker said. Vincent was surprised. Not that he stole the robe, but that someone had liked this strange man enough to give him such things. Maybe he was handsome under the hair, and thats why he had so many exlovers. Or maybe he was just gifted between the sheets. Vincent wondered if he'd be getting a letter about this man in his future. The one thing he knew he wouldn't be getting in the future, at least not in the near future, was a kiss. Twice he had done this. If he wasn't doing it on purpose, then he had a fucked up sense of timing.

"That play was entertaining, but it was more fun to play with you Vincent," Undertaker said. He stood and yawned loudly, stretching up his arms. Diederich glared at him as he walked out of Vincent's private box. This was a different kind of glare. When Diederich glared at him, it was of grave annoyance, exasperation, and dislike. This one meant murder. Vincent would be lying if he said that Diederich's cold murderous glare wasn't turning him on. It was incredibly unfair for any one man to be that attractive. Diederich walked over and looked over the side of the railing. The theater was emptying quickly, every one too busy leaving in a rush.

"Good night," Diederich said. He leaned close to Vincent, took another suspicious glance to the area around them, and then quickly kissed him on the lips. He then walked out of the private box and down the hallway at a speed previous unknown for a human being. This was enjoyable and also incredibly confusing.

"What the hell did that mean," Vincent whispered to himself, and evidently, to the closed hardwood door in front of him. Not the goodnight, he knew what that meant, but a kiss? That was very confusing. Did he run off like that because he was trying to tease him? Because if that was his goal, then he did a damn good job of it. Vincent was quite flustered by that. Oh well, he wasn't about to complain that he got one, but if Diederich didn't just practically run off, he would have liked to ask for another. It wasn't worth pissing him off and ruining the moment by chasing after him like a wayward school girl. He could always get another later, it wasn't like he wouldn't have another excuse to bother Diederich. The queen's dirty work is never done, there is always something new and dangerous she wants him to investigate.

"You look sexually frustrated and confused," Undertaker said. He was standing in a dark alleyway. He was smoking one of Vincent's cigarettes, which he obviously stole. If he was trying to make Vincent homicidal, then congrats Undertaker, you totally fucking won.

"Haven't you bothered me enough for one night?" Vincent snapped. He was in no mood to put up with more of him.

"I think your problems stem from your pent up anger," Undertaker said, flicking the butt of the cigarette on the ground. Vincent stepped towards him with a scowl.

"Don't fuck around with me," Vincent hissed. He backhanded Undertaker with his ring hand. His ring cut him across the face, leaving red horizon welts scrawled against his cheek and jaw. Undertaker smiled at him.

"Just a slap? How disappointingly boring. I expected a more terse punishment from you."

"Shut your mouth, you insolent bastard!" Vincent said. He was letting his temper get ahead of him. He grabbed a fist full of Undertaker's silver hair and flung his head into the brick wall. There was a loud crack and the sound of Undertaker's erupting in a fit of laughter. He had a grievous head wound. As he turned his head to face Vincent again, the red blood that was seeping through his pale hair and down his nearly white skin became visible. He reached out his long tongue and licked off some of the blood on his cheek.

"Bite me," Undertaker said. Vincent snarled at him and pinned him against the bricks. He sank his teeth into Undertaker's neck and bit down hard. He tasted blood and pain as Undertaker howled with laughter. "Harder, Harder!" Undertaker cheered.

"I'll give you something hard," Vincent said. He didn't bother wiping the blood from his mouth. He threw Undertaker to the ground. Undertaker collapsed on the ground, his legs giving away beneath him. Vincent knew he was faking it.

"How you hurt me! Oh, I'm so excited," Undertaker said. He tried sitting up, having to balance himself on one hand. He made a false, over-exaggerated, 'fainting' gesture with the other hand, tossing his long hair away from his face. Half lidded eyes were glaring up at Vincent. His face was entirely bare. While Vincent had seen half of it, it seemed so different once his eyes were shown. Undertaker's features were softer than he expected. The long, jagged scar going across his face seemed less like a blemish and more like an accent. Vincent didn't think he would have been so attractive underneath all that hair, he wondered why anyone would hide a face like that. He knelt to the filthy ground and straddled Undertaker's chest.

"You shameless pervert," Vincent told him, his voice full of contempt and hatred. He grabbed his face with his hand, Vincent's nails dug into Undertaker's jawline.

"Is it my eyes you're looking into or a mirror?" Undertaker said, batting his long white eyelashes. Vincent let go of his jaw and slapped him again.

"My lord, I beseech of you, hit me harder," he begged. Vincent punched in him the jaw, his fist hit Undertaker's face and let up a loud crack. Thank heavens for apathy or someone would think a murder was taking place here.

"I like it when it hurts, so go on hurt me more!" Undertaker said. Well fine, if he wanted it rough and hard, then Vincent would fuck him that way. After all, he was begging for it, and Vincent was such a generous host.

This was more about the dominance in the situation, the anger. It was about the point that Vincent was making. It's not about the sex, it's about the momentary power he holds over Undertaker like a gun to his head. The power which, Vincent hasn't forgotten, Undertaker is so graciously lending to him for this short time. Because Undertaker gets his rocks off at enraging Vincent until he hate-fucks him screaming out of pure anger. Vincent's the one who is really being played here, but he didn't care. What he wants now is Undertaker beneath him, his legs wrapped around Vincent's waist, pleading for more like a desperate masochist. The orgasm was just a side-benefit. He'd fuck him raw like this even if he derived no physical pleasure of it. He just wanted to see him hurt, and apparently Undertaker wanted it to. Everyone benefits from this. His mind was alight with blind rage and physical need. Undertaker wrapped his hands around Vincent's neck and choked him gently. Hard enough to be uncomfortable, but not hard enough to make it impossible for him to breathe. Damn, he knew exactly what Vincent liked. That clever bastard. Undertaker tightened his grip around his throat as Vincent came, making him black out from suffocation just for a few seconds. Erotic asphyxiation, one of his hedonistic pleasures; just a little sample of death. Undertaker left him with a smile on his face and casual wink. Vincent lit up a cigarette as he walked home.

He wasn't proud of this. Alright, he was a little proud of it. But he still felt just a bit guilty. Because he had intimate relationships while having, foreign, unheard romantic feelings for someone else entirely. He cared for Diederich, he didn't want to fuck him in an alleyway behind a theater. Though he might lie and say that he did because to someone like Vincent, to whom love was foreign pathogen, saying lude things was easier to him than admitting that he had normal things like love and emotions. He didn't want to hit him, or call him mean things, though he often ended up doing that anyways. With Undertaker it was momentary exchange of power, for a short time the preternaturally strong man let Vincent be the bigger man. (and in in more ways than one). With Diederich, Vincent would've found his feelings being hurt if all he wanted out of Vincent was quick fuck. The idea of physical intimacy between them felt hollow and depraved, just making out for making outs sake. It was a violation of something special. Quick kisses done under the snide influence of drugs and late-night fatigue. Sure, Vincent could fuck him, but he could do that to anyone. There were very few people in the would that he couldn't charm his way into. But this time things were different. He didn't want sex. Sex was a physical thing, sex was cheap, and for a man like Vincent, it was as easy as getting into a fight. What he wanted out of Diederich was a far more rare, and far more sinister. He wanted love, and that insidious parasite was much more difficult to get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that referencing Shakespeare is pretentious. But in this context, I think it works well with the theme. Fun fact: My good pal Female Heero Yuy on ff.net offhandedly mentioned that Vincent would want to fuck Undertaker and play with his pretty hair when I was asking her what she thought of this chapter. So the sex scene was 100% unintended improv inspired by that piece of feedback. You can blame her or thank her for it, depending on your opinion.
> 
> Just like Vincent, my interest in writing porn isn't about sex, it's about the power balance. Some of you know that dominant submissive complex is something that I write about frequently. Just be grateful that Vincent is human and his writhing demonic tentacle doesn't show up in this story, ok?


	30. Leave Not A Single Witness Alive

"Oh good, you've arrived," Vincent said. He answered the door as Diederich arrived. Sure, he could entertain the other guests, but Diederich was the one person he wanted to see the most. Tanaka was setting up the party in the salon. This was his first Halloween away from Weston. Halloween parties, had sadly, been banned and so he had only ever enjoyed a clandestine night in the library drinking with Lau. But this year things would be different. He was putting on a very exclusive, very awesome Halloween party. And what fun it was. He was so high in spirits that he even made most of the decorations himself. Decorations which included pumpkins hollowed out into flower vases that held dead roses and gypsophila. He also gathered a bunch of dead crows and strategically placed them in bird cages stuffed with white flowers around the manor. Call it a cliche if you want, but he took some inspiration from those Ophelia killers. He had vines of white climbing roses wrapped around the railings, and sprayed them down with fake blood. It was delightfully spooky.

"I went to that tailor you suggested, Nina Hopkins. She asked me if I wanted to be the Goblin King, and this is not what I expected," Diederich said. He was wearing some incredibly tight fitted grey pants, a black leather vest, black thigh boots, and a white frilly shirt which, heaven be damned, was not buttoned all the way. The fact that he actually put on that costume at all was nothing short of a miracle. It was almost enough to make Vincent believe in magic.

"I think you look fine."

"And what exactly is your costume of?"

"Rachel and I are demons," Vincent said. He had asked Nina to style Rachel and himself a dress for the most demonic couple around. Vincent wore a black dress coat, the bottom hem was covered with red sequins and rhinestones. He wore a loose black chiffon shirt, tight leather pants and calf length black boots. On his face he had pieces of black tulle fabric glued under one eye, which matched the dark blue and black he had ringed around his eyes. He was channeling his inner demon lord, and doing a bang up job of it.

"Marvelous, we can all be a pack of wandering fairies," Diederich said, exasperated.

"Nah, Frances insisted on going against my saying that I wanted a sinister theme."

"Look at the cute doll I made," Vincent said holding up a doll. She was a normal looking porcelain doll with the sharp ends of nails coming out of her mouth and lower face. Her white dress was stained with red dye around the neckline. He sewed razor blades to the hem of her dress. He was proud of his handy work.

"She wants a kiss, Dee," Vincent said. He held the doll to Diederich's face, Diederich backed away from the doll and the sharp nails extruding from it's lower face.

"I think I know someone else who wants a kiss..." Rachel said, giving Diederich a wink. She was dressed in a matched deep red ball gown. Ir had black roses and rhinestones sewn to it. It had more of an 19th century design, with a low neckline and that showed off most of Rachel's cleavage. She wasn't showing off for Vincent, showing off her tits to him was like playing guitar to serenade a deaf man.

"You tell her everything, don't you?" Diederich asked Vincent.

"I'm very persuasive," Rachel replied. She was beaming with pride. Even Vincent cringed at the mention of her methods. Even a demon, real demon would consider her formidable. Perhaps as not as frightening as Frances, but Rachel had her moments. There were kelpies hiding in the lake of her blue eyes.

"Let's go to the parlor, the other guests are already here," Vincent, taking Diederich by the arm.

"This is my sister, Angelina," Rachel said, pointing to the girl with a shy expression and bright red hair. Diederich already knew every one else there. Lau and Ran Mao were in attendance, as no party could be complete without Lau and the wonderful accouterments he brought. They had disguised themselves as pixiu. Frances was dressed in her hunting gear, with the addition of a red hooded cape. Alexis was besides her, wearing little wolfy ears and a bright red collar. Tanaka was setting out plates of orderves while wearing a priests robe. Diederich found the sandwich platter and made himself at home. He did not greet any one, but that was fine. Vincent expected that, and Diederich was such a predictable guy at times.

"I have an idea for a game, let's divine your future lovers," Rachel said.

"...Rachel, everyone in this room already has a lover," Vincent said. He was too much of a man for these childish lover games. They were for lovesick girls. Vincent was neither lovesick nor a girl.

"I don't," Diederich said.

"Except you and, Angelina," Vincent said, with a chuckle. She turned red and looked away from him. Clearly, he had managed to upset her, yet again, giving Ann just another reason to dislike him.

"Then let's play spin the bottle!" Rachel said.

"How indecent..." Diederich muttered, so quietly that only Vincent could hear him. Really? If he considered a randomized kiss boring, then Vincent wondered what Diederich would call the quite intentional kiss he gave Vincent at the theater.

"Come on everyone, let's sit in a circle," Rachel said. She took a partially filled bottle of wine, drank the rest of it in one fell gulp, and placed it on the carpet. Vincent sat next to her on the floor. Eventually everyone joined them. Angelina sat next to Rachel, Diederich sat next to Vincent.

"Alright, Ann, your spin!" Rachel cheered.

"W-w-hat? Why me?" Angelina lamented.

"Because you look so cute dressed as Persephone," Rachel said. Angelina looked sheepish but she took the bottle in her and and spun it. The bottle slowed down and the mouth of the bottle was pointed directly at Ran Mao. Ran Mao scooted closer to Angelina and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. Angelina blushed again, she was such a shy young lady. That may just have been her first kiss. The bottle was spun several more times.

"Oh goodness, I suppose it's my turn," Vincent said, he closed his eyes and spun it on the carpet. When he opened his eye, the mouth of the bottle was pointed at Rachel. How sad, he was hoping to get a convenient excuse to smooch Diederich.

"My, my, honey, where are you going to kiss me?" Rachel said, batting her eyelashes. She was mocking him, she really was, but Vincent swore he could feel Diederich fuming at the thought of it.

"I promise I won't give you anything too lascivious," Vincent said. He winked at Angelina. He took Rachel's hand and gave it a quick kiss.

"Well aren't you the gentleman," Diederich said snidely.

"There's one person who hasn't spun yett..." Vincent said.

"Vincent please."

"Dee, come on. It's your turn."

"Fine," Diederich sighed, and spun the bottle. It finally landed on Alexis Midford, Diederich's former fag at Weston College. Sadly, that was not who Vincent was hoping it would land on. Such disappointment, empty wine bottle. You don't work to Vincent's whimsy.

"You're really more like a younger brother to me," Diederich said.

"Come here," Alexis said, he reached forward and gave Diederich a big, warm hug. It was a manly hug, the kind that ended with Alexis calling Diederich his ol' chap and patting him on the shoulder. He was a smart young man to keep it just as a hug. Vincent wouldn't have to plot his death tonight.

"I know another game we can play," Lau said.

"Do tell," Vincent said.

"It's called, I never. We all get a drink and we go around in a circle and say things that we have never done. Anyone who has done the thing must take a drink. The game ends when none of us can stand," Lau said. Vincent remembered this game, but remembered nothing else because the only times he had played it had all ended in him being black out drunk.

"Yes," Rachel replied. Vincent stood up and fetched some bottle of wine out of the liquor cabinet. He refilled everyone's glasses with a light white wine. Mostly for the safety of Angelina And Alexis, who he was certain were not the kind of people who could their drink.

"I've never been to Italy," Vincent said. Diederich took a drink.

"I've never kissed a woman," Diederich said. Everyone else took a sip of their wine.

"I've never eaten horse meat," Alexis said. Vincent, Frances and Diederich took a drink.

"I've never seen any of Oscar Wilde's plays," Frances said. Rachel and Vincent drank.

And so on, it continued for too long. By the time they were finished playing this drinking game, all of them were past the limit of intoxification. They were not only drunk, they were outright stupid. There was a thin line between 'having too much to drink' and 'drinking thyself into a stupor'. This group of young people was seen to it that every one of them had hit the point of stupefaction. Angelina had been the first one to go. At first, they were too drunk to think whether or not she had her eyes closed or if she was taking a nap; but actually Angelina just passed out on the floor. Rachel dragged her on the couch and put a pillow beneath her head. The next to go was Alexis, and minutes later, Frances. They were both on the floor, Frances had one arm wrapped around his shoulders, and he laid his head against her chest. They would probably wake up in the morning like that. Vincent decided to stop drinking at that point, since should anyone actually die of alcohol poisoning, it would be his job to deal with it, as Tanaka had gone to bed hours ago. Diederich had gone off somewhere, possibly to puke, but Vincent had remained in that room to watch the rest of the evening go by. He wouldn't miss this show for anything. Soon, it was a no-holds-barred stand-off between Lau, and Rachel. They took turns drinking shots of vodka. The last person to remain without puking or blacking out would be the winner of that Halloween. Rachel won.

"Good mourning, Franny," Vincent greeted his sister at the breakfast table. He had changed out of his costume and was now wearing his red silk robe, and nothing else. Frances was still in her hunting outfit. Her hair was desheveled and her eyes were ringedwith dark purple tiredness. She looked like hell. She looked like she fell out of the hangover trees and hit every single branch on the way down. Vincent, however, did not really hangovers. Or at east he was capable of smiling like a madman after a night of consumption just to rub his fake not-hangover in everyone else's face.

"I need coffee," Frances said, slumping over and hitting her head on the table. Tanaka sighed and poured her a cup of black coffee.

"Have some lemonade too, Lady Frances, it will keep you hydrated," Tanaka said with a smile.

"Where is everyone else?"

"Don't ask me, I'm not their damn mother," Vincent said. He had taken a mental inventory. Lau and Ran Mao? Probably gone by morning, it was unusual for Lau to stay any place over night. He probably left as soon as he was sobered enough to stumble out of the manor. Rachel was sleeping in Vincent's bed. Angelina and Diederich were both in guest rooms. Alexis was probably still passed out on the floor of the sitting room where Frances had left him.

"Good morning, beautiful," Vincent greeted Diederich. Somehow, he had managed to change back into his normal attire, which included a grab gray suit with a dark green waistcoat, a black shirt, and a green pocket square. Where he got them, Vincent didn't know but despite the bags under his eyes, which he always had anyways, he looked stunning. It was supremely unfair.

"Go to hell," Diederich spat.

"Looks like someone had too much to drink, and they say germans know how to hold their liquor."

"Can you for once being it upon yourself to be less terrible?" Diederich asked him.

"Shuush... calm yourself and enjoy some waffles and lemonade."

Vincent was casually looking out the window and admiring the scenic views of his property when he noticed a group of people that were walking around the outskirts of the manor. They were making quiet the racket, talking loudly among themselves. Vincent had not invited them. He looked closer. They were wearing all white and conservative clothing. They were holding books. They were brandishing crosses. They were the fucking witnesses of Jehhova, and somehow, they had found his way onto his property. They believed in a violent god, no drinking, no partying, and no extramarital sex. So in a way, they were against everything that Vincent and his rampant hedonism stood for. They had no place here. Tanaka had refused to answer the front door to greet the religious nutcases, and now they were trying to find some other door on which to knock. They wandered around loudly with their bibles. Frances sipped her coffee, ignoring this intrusion, while Vincent just glared at them with disdain.

"Shouldn't you tell them to leave?" Diederich asked Tanaka.

"No need. The bears will arrive shortly," Tanaka said politely.

"We keep guard bears on the property to help eradicate the intruders," Vincent explained.

"You have bears?" Diederich asked, surprised by well, bears. It was hard to not be surprised by them, they were large, frightening and had a thirst for blood. Outside the people were running around and screaming their heads off. What a shame it was, there were no neighbors around for many miles and it was certain that nobody in the Phantomhive household was about to help them.

"Well, yes, technically bears are extinct in England. But one night, Lau was over and we had both consumed a fair amount of opium-"

"What a surprise," Diederich interrupted. Vincent glared at him.

"Anyways, we were devising a plot in which to protect my manor whilst I was away at Weston. Guard dogs wouldn't do much to stop most criminals, as dogs can be easily killed with knives or a gun. So we thought- why not bears? Then I had some bears imported from Russia but sadly, they've gotten a bit out of hand," Vincent told him. He looked out the window with Diederich as they saw large bear drag a still squirming human being back into the woods, leaving behind a trail of blood.

"Either way, they do a great job covering up the evidence," Vincent added in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Pixue are a type of chinese monster. They're kinda' like but they generally come in pairs, one female and one male. I thought that it would be suiting for Lau and Ran Mao as they usually come together in a pair, like the pixue.
> 
> In the manga, which you should be familiar with, Lizzie was nearly killed by a bear on the Phantomhive property. Of course bears were hunted to extinction in England long before the 1800's. I tried to come up with a reason why there would be bears on the Phantomhive property. I think attack bears have some logic in them. Bears are wild to the area where I am from so I've met them in real life, and let me tell you, they are some bigass scary motherfuckers to deal with. You do not want to run into a bear. So in one way, Vincent had a good idea. But bears procreate so in another way- not so good of an idea.


	31. Blowing Kisses From Hell

Alexis had woken up with a vicious hangover in the room where they were drinking last night. Frances told him that he deserved it for his stupidity and then offered to ride home with him to London. Rachel, upon waking up Angelina, had decided that it would be for the best to get her back home as soon as possible because she had a test to take that afternoon. Tanaka had picked this time to announce that he had errands to run in town and had no problem with taking everyone to their desired destinations. This left Vincent and Diederich alone at the breakfast, now brunch, table. With everyone else that was in the household gone off for the day, their only guests were the blood smears on the Phantomhive lawn from where the witnesses once intruded. Diederich ate in silence, stuffing his face with all kind of foods, anything seemed good to him. Vincent was still sipping away at tea and inhaling smoke in his robe. He couldn't just sit here quietly all day, that would be quite boring.

"Would you like to talk about that kiss you gave me?" Vincent asked. He had to bring up some topic of conversation, and way not this one. Last night would have been a bad choice, as this was topic to talk about sober. Diederich looked at him with a look of surprise. Surely, he wasn't daft enough to think that Vincent would just forget about it.

"I would not."

"Well, there is really no avoiding talking about it," Vincent said.

"Can you please put your clothes on?" Diederich asked. He was grasping at any possible reason to put this off. Vincent was still in his robe, and nothing else. Because it was his damn manor, which he not only owned, but earned; and he would walk around all day wearing nothing but a very short silk robe if he wanted to. Vincent also wanted to put off this conversation, and the impending awkwardness that it implied.

"Fine. I will go dress myself, and when I am dressed, you will have run out of reasons to delay this conversation," Vincent said.

This also meant that he would also run out of reasons to procrastinate. Damn it. Maybe he could start a small house fire or something to get out it. He was certain the manor would burn quickly, and he did have matches in his bedroom. As he got dressed he took a ridiculous amount of time deciding on what he wanted to wear. The answer was obvious. He wanted to wear the dark grey suit that had the subtle red plaid ticking in the fabric. Then he'd wear with a dark grey vest, lighter gray shirt, light grey pocket square to match the shirt, then pair it with a brocade tie that had a heavily embroidered red floral design on it. Then he wore dark grey short boots with rows of silver buckles on them. But it took him an hour to actually put it on even though he thought of that particular combination within a matter of seconds. Except that he wore red socks and not his usual black socks, that was more of a last-second touch to things. And he went on and on with these endless deliberations. Not that it meant to him a damn thing as to what he wore, all his clothes were nice, but if he was going to procrastinate, he'd do it like a champion of useless deliberations. When he got back, Diederich was still making himself best friends with the tea trays. If Vincent had counted it correctly, he would had to consume six almond tea scones by now. It was like his stomach was a bottomless pit.

"And now we can resume this conversation," Vincent said cheerfully. It was all fake, they were now procrastinating as a team.

"It was an impulsive thing and you should forget about it," Diederich sad quickly. Oh, he was so avoiding this, he even came up with a terrible lie. Dishonesty didn't suit him, he was terrible at it.

"I have you profiled. You don't do impulsive, Diederich. You think more than you say, and your actions are always deliberate. You're only impulsive when someone really pisses you off and if I did upset you to the point of impulsive behavior, you wouldn't kiss me."

"Perhaps you shouldn't think so much about it."

"Why not think about it, it's rare that I do get a good reason for pleasant thoughts," Vincent said. He was trying os hard not to resort back to teasing Diederich as a cover up for his own discomfort with emotional intimacy.

"What if I don't think it's pleasant?"

"If you don't like it, then why bother. You're not my whore, I don't pay you to pleasure me," Vincent told him.

"I hate having to admit to myself that I like it," Diederich said. Now it was back to the topic of his repression. Sure, he didn't mind initiating things but if someone dared brought the idea of his rampant, unhealthy self hatred and repressed homosexuality up to him, suddenly he'd be right on the defensive. He could kiss Vincent all he wanted but he wouldn't admit to liking it, because admitting to liking it would be admitting to be being gay, and goodness knows, that awful religion of his had done a great job at brainwashing him.

"Are you seriously that hung up on it?"

"Considering that I can literally be hung up for it, yes."

"Alright, until you're willing to admit to me, that you're attracted to me and not hate yourself for it, I'm not letting you touch me. Not even hold my hand. I'm not going to enable your self-loathing tendencies," Vincent told him.

"Wouldn't that be punishing yourself?" Diederich asked. Alright, it totally would be, but Vincent could handle it. After all, he now had Undertaker added to the list of people whose bodies he could use and toss the ground after.

"I have no interest in being physically intimate with you."

"Then what do you want?"

"Nothing. I just care about your well being," Vincent said. This was about as much as anyone could hope to get out of him. He didn't want to say that the idea of loving someone who would only feel hatred and regret for it would hurt him. He cared about Diederich, and if Diederich caring about him wasn't good for his mental health, then Vincent didn't want to be part of it. He wouldn't be some kind of poison. To many he was a homewrecker, he was the punisher, he was cruel and uncaring. He was like harsh smoke sliding down their throat, burning away their inside until they were left hollow and black. He had no problem using people to meet his own selfish ends. They meant nothing to them, he didn't really respect them, but he respected Diederich. He thought romantic things about him. He didn't want to leave hollow, to do that would ruin it for him. Saying things like that was too difficult.

"Thats all you'll admit to?" Diederich asked. He sounded like he found this confession unimpressive. Well fuck what he thought, having feelings was hard.

"I'm a cold blooded killer, don't expect so much from me," Vincent said dismissively.

"I have a new one," Vincent said, waving the crisp white envelope. In the center was the queen's red wax seal. This was his get out of hell free card. It was untapped, uncut and ready for the reading. He cut it open with a clean knife off of the table. He read it with a disappointed expression on his face before passing it off to Diederich.

"This sounds so pointless," Diederich said. He handed it back to Vincent.

"Sometimes the queen will send me some really stupid tasks she doesn't want to advertise by asking a more official member of her society. It's so stupid, she wouldn't dare make her spending money on this cause public," Vincent said. Sometimes he went from being awesome secret assassin to doing the Queen's 'Charlie' work. This wasn't even the most trite mission she had sent him on, but it was close.

"And you use me for every stupid task you don't want to do."

"It goes right down the ladder of power; and you are on the bottom," Vincent told him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun trivia: The tie Vincent is wearing is actually me describing Hannibal Lecter's "murder tie" from the show Hannibal. :) Which is a tie that Hannibal, despite having a massive wardrobe of suits and ties, seems to always wear that one tie whenever he is shown killing someone. Please don't let it be cancelled. If Hannibal gets cancelled I'll be taking it out on YOU, and consequently, Vincent and Diederich. One of them will be horribly maimed. (Spoiler: Probably Dee.)
> 
> So please, watch Hannibal. Do it for me, and more importantly do it for the fictional detectives who I have at my mercy.


	32. Unintended Meanings

"Alright, so apparently they're trying to renovate this old noble family's castle into a museum, but the people renovating it seem to think that it's haunted, and refuse to work. So I am being sent here, because apparently the queen had to send the one person in her address book who doesn't believe in ghosts," Vincent said, stepping out of the carriage. He had a scarf around his neck and was holding a picnic basket. The castle was out in the forest, the land around it was hardly cleared away, leaving little space between the caste and gloomy dead trees that surrounded it. Snow piled around it, a narrow path was shoveled away for people to walk through the front door. The rest of the snow around the castle was clear and untouched by any kind of foot prints, only little prints left behind by birds and rabbits.

"This is terrible," Diederich said. He wore his heavy, black coat that came down to his ankles. He was warm even as the snow piled up outside. He was ready, physically, for spending a night in a cold, spooky castle. Mentally, he was not prepared. He entered the castle trailing a few steps behind Vincent was an overly anxious look on his face. This is a not a man who would do well in poker.

"So? we're just supposed to spend one night in a haunted castle. I don't see why they need me to be here for this. What I am going to do? Shoot the damned imaginary ghost?" Vincent asked. He looked around the castle. It was, a castle, to say the least. There were still things packed in creates from the renovations, but there were still suits of armor laying around and tapestries hung up against the brick walls.

"You don't need help for this. I don't see why I have to be here," Diederich complained.

"You're here to keep me from getting bored. Maybe we can make out," Vincent suggested. Maybe something fun could actually come out of this mandatory alone time. If he had to stay here all night by himself, he would just be bored out of his mind. This was one of the times where it would be more enjoyable to be in the thick of danger. Danger was exciting. This was boring and a total waste of the queen's resources. Vincent was a damn assassin. He killed people for a living. He was crueler than the devil. What in the hells name was he doing here babysitting a castle? This was something a child would have assigned to.

"So you're finally going to start sexually harassing me again? Wonderful," Diederich said sarcastically.

"Be careful what you wish for. I don't lose track of my hands," Vincent warned him.

"This place feels creepy. Did you really have to show up at sunset?" Diederich asked. He looked around the main room of the castle. He was too distracted by the creepiness to be perturbed by Vincent's obvious come ons.

"I brought a deck of cards, and Tanaka packed us a box of snacks and sake," Vincent said. He was holding the wicker picnic basket up, and Diederich did not look nearly impressed as he should have been. Tanaka's snacks were awesome. He packed them some really nice sake, which was the perfect drink to warm you up when you were stuck in a cold castle with nothing to do.

"We are in a damn haunted house," Diederich said, seemingly to himself. Vincent didn't care about that inane shit so why was he going on about it, again? Vincent couldn't understand why freaking out about imaginary enemies was more fun to Diederich than getting drunk, playing card games and kissing. Obviously, of the two options, Vincent's was the more enjoyable.

"Diederich, calm down. Ghosts aren't real, they're just a projection of myth and paranoia," Vincent told him.

"Just like how that monster was someone in a costume," Diederich said.

Vincent ignored his silly complaints. That was a one time only freak accident. One weird thing lurking in the woods did not automatically verify the existence of every other kind of weird thing that was imaginable by the human mind. Ghosts were a result of tiredness, hallucinations and idiotic superstition. They could also be caused by the fact that the castle was marked for renovation by a group of historians who were very short on money, despite having the queen's blessing and encouragement. After all, she couldn't hand out all of her money like it was water, after all, she did have to pay her faithful watchdog's salary. The constant delays were bleeding whatever scanty funds that were given to the historical society to the point of shock. If their renovations kept being delayed for long periods by someone scaring off the workers, then they would eventually run out of money and have to sell the property. Not to mention that a certain real estate tycoon known for a love of building lavish hotels had been narrowly outbid by the historical society on the initial auction for the castle. There was no doubt, in Vincent's mind that he would swoop down at the castle like a hawk and not get outbid for the property a second time. With a huge investment like that, he could spare some cash to pay someone to go around and scare people. It was a simple case. Man wants property, man gets property with fake ghost bullshit. Suspect? Obvious. Motive? Check. Ghosts? Fake.

"We might as well make our rounds now," Vincent said, sighing and setting his picnic basket down by the stair case. "Let's split up."

"Wait, we're not going to take them together?" Diederich asked.

"It's way faster if we each investigate the castle separately, then we can just eat snacks and get drunk the rest of the night," Vincent said.

"But..."

"Dee."

"Don't look at me like that," Diederich said. Vincent wasn't looking at him, he was giving him the facial expression that he would give to a wayward idiot who believed in ghosts instead of idiots playing pranks.

"Don't be so paranoid. Go walk around the first floor. I'll take the second floor."

"Fine," Diederich said. He walked off like he was trying to look brave, but Vincent knew he hated it.

Vincent walked upstairs through the second floor. There was dust here and there, as well as the foot prints left behind by the people who worked there. It was just starting to get dark outside. He looked out one of the windows and into the forest surrounding the castle. No footprints out there, either. The area around the castle white and pristine, save for the spaces where people had to get in and move things. The castle, despite the renovations, was in excellent shape. The family who had slowly died off had kept it in good condition. The windows were still fair, the walls were without major fault. It was small for a castle. Vincent made his round down the hallway and through each room very quickly, but to be fair, he did do it quickly. Enter the room, check the closets and under the bed, close the door and leave. If he listened hard enough he could still hear Diederich checking the rooms. This is when he came up with an good plan. There were suits of armor. There were ghost legends. And there was one very easily spooked german man down stairs. Vincent quietly headed downstairs and managed to put himself in the metal death contraption. He was pretty sure this form of protection didn't actually do much good to anyone. There was a reason this went of style. He watched as Diederich entered the last room down one of the hallways, following behind him as he closed the door. He stood by the door way until he heard the creak of an opening hardwood door. Then Vincent jumped out at him. Diederich let out a blood curdling scream only suited for a young woman.

"Relax, it's just me," Vincent said, his voice echoed a bit under the metal helmet.

"You scared me! What the hell is wrong with you?!" Diederich screamed. His face was bright red with embarrassment and anger. Vincent had managed to scare the living pants off of him and he didn't at all find it funny. Vincent was laughing hysterically in his suit of armor. Diederich was also brandishing a large hunting knife, but seeing as Vincent was cloaked in a metal suit, it wasn't much of a threat. This prank was so worth it.

"That's it. I am so done with you," Diederich said. He put the hunting knife back in his pockets and stomped off. He left Vincent to stand there alone in the suit of armor, which did not have a practical range of movement. Certainly not enough movement to get the damn thing off of his body. Which really, was the fatal flaw in his little plot.

"Hey come back, I'm stuck in this suit! I need your help getting it off!"

"Go get yourself off!" Diederich yelled at him, not turning around. This only made Vincent laugh again. "Damn it, thats not what I meant!"


	33. Spooky Business

Vincent had managed to get the suit of armor off of his body. He ended up damaging not only himself, but the suit of armor. He clamored to patch it back together, and forgot where half of the pieces went. The suit of armor sat in the same place where it had before, but it looked very disheveled and stood out against the others. Whoever put this one back together clearly had not a single idea as to what they were doing, but Vincent wouldn't be suspected. Some poor workers would get blamed for his irresponsible shenanigans. The guilty scrape on Vincent's wrist was hidden with his gloves. Vincent had resumed walking around the castle, this time he was looking for Diederich. It would have been in poor taste to start eating the snacks without him. He was probably more pissed off at Vincent than he was afraid of the ghosts. Vincent cured him from his ridiculous fear with his own methods, which really, should have been considered not just a prank, but also a gift. Vincent looked down the corridors of the first floor, then the second floor. He doubted that Diederich would go into the basement, which only left the roof of the castle to look for him. Vincent ventured on the roof, where there was a foot of snow piled on top of the roof Diederich was walking around in his boots and long coat, unbothered by it. Vincent didn't care to walk around.

"You're terrible and I hate you," Diederich said, looking back at Vincent.

"I love you too," Vincent replied.

"You're evil."

"You like it."

"I am quite sure the feeling I have for you will never come close to like," Diederich said. It seems like with every step that Vincent takes closer to him, Diederich takes tens steps back and continues hiding in his delusions. As impatient that Vincent is, he can play the waiting game.

"Let's go back inside the castle, it's cold as hell out here," Vincent said. He doubted very highly that someone was hiding on the roof in this weather. If someone was, there would have been foot prints, and the only foot prints left out here were the prints of Diederich's heavy winter boots. It was actually pretty pointless for him to have checked at all, but at least he was thorough.

"If you put another suit of armor behind that door, I will never forgive you," Diederich said. He looked over the side of the roof, and walked for the door. He put his handle of the knob of the door and looked at Vincent.

"Who the hell am I going to get to stand behind that door?" Vincent asked him.

"It's locked," Diederich said.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Vincent asked. He tried to open the door, but nope. That door was locked. It wouldn't budge. They had locked themselves on the roof of the castle in the dead of night, in the coldest month of the year.

"You are the worst detective. If I were Queen Victoria I would take you out back and put you down," Diederich told him.

"Hush my liege," Vincent said, taking his set of lock picks out of his pocket. What kind of detective would he be if he didn't keep a few emergency supplies with him along with his usual arsenal of concealed guns and knives? Within seconds the door was opened. He wasn't the worst detective ever, he had serious detectiving skills.

"If you didn't know how to do that I would have kicked you off the roof," Diederich threatened as they re-entered the castle. While the castle itselfm ay have been nearly as cold inside as it was outside, it was nicer to be inside than it was to be outside.

"Have you ever considered the possibility that you'd be in a better mood if you got a nice screw?" Vincent asked him. It was a possibility, if not a certain outright reality. After all, all of that pent up rage had to go somewhere.

"I'm going to pretend that you didn't say that."

"You're also going to pretend that you have no interest in me, while we both know that you are the worst at lying," Vincent said. He sounded bitter about it, which he was. Unlike Diederich, he was good at lying and covering it up, he just couldn't find a reason to hide the way he felt around Diederich.

"I am very good at lying."

"No you're not. You're flushed, your eyes are dilated, you are obviously emotionally distressed, and you're like this all the time. You like to hide it"

"I'm not a subject you can interrogate."

"Why not? I can investigate you quite thoroughly with my hands if you want," Vincent suggested.

"If you touch me so help you."

"What are you doing to do?" Vincent asked. He wrapped his arms around Diederich's neck. Vincent was touching him and Diederich wasn't moving like he wanted to push Vincent away. Now Diederich had his lips firmly placed on Vincent's. This was too good to be true. Diederich bit Vincent's lower lip hard, hard enough to draw blood and make Vincent let out a surprised yelp of pain.

"Damn it," Vincent cursed. He held his hand to his lip and pulled his hand away. The tips of his fingers were covered in blood.

"You were asking for it."

"Yeah well, fucking warn me before you do that," Vincent said. He walked over to his picnic basket and blotted at his lip with one of the nice, white linen napkins that would unfortunately be cursed with blood stains.

"These are delicious, what are they?" Diederich asked. It took him no time to break into the snacks.

"Those are rice crackers and you shouldn't just eat things without knowing what they are," Vincent told him. After all, this was a Phantomhive picnic basket. There was good chance of the contents being poisoned, or in the very least, drugged. This one was completely free of poison, but you never know. Vincent took out one of the glasses and poured himself a glass of sake. It stung his lip when the alcohol seeped into the cut.

"I don't see why not," Diederich said nonchalantly.

"What if it was my plan to find the idiot that was pulling pranks on the workers here and poison them? We're not in wonderland, Alice. The cake won't make you grow taller, it will kill you."

"I know you would never poison me."

"It would be easy enough."

"You need me."

"We should check the basement before I drink this entire bottle," Vincent said. It was too tempting to finish it now, he had to resist it momentarily so he could get the actual work done.

They walked down into the castle's basement. A lot of the tools and supplies that they were using to restore the castle to it's former glory were stock piled down here. Even in the dim light of the oil lamps that were kept lit, they could see the old paintings and rolled up tapestries that had been put away. These items were priceless, but if someone wanted to buy up the castle and hock the decor, they could have been sold to people from a great sum of money. There were foot prints in the dust that settled on the ground. They heard the sound of someone walking around, they ducked behind a stack of crates. Vincent took out a mirror compact from his pocket and watched the man dust himself with white chalk. Vanity could be practical. This was the ghost. Just as Vincent suspected. Someone was purposefully scaring people off by pretending to be a ghost. Clearly this man had heard them investigating the upstairs and quickly dashed down here in hopes that he would scare off Vincent. Then Vincent would report back that the castle, was as originally thought, haunted. It would have been a great idea if they weren't trying to spook an atheist.

"I have an idea," Diederich whispered to Vincent as they crouched. After this, they quietly walked back upstairs and out of the basement. Diederich carried the basket upstairs, and Vincent followed him into one of the rooms. It was cleared out, except for an old chest of drawers.

"What is the plan?" Vincent asked.

"Let's put the spooks on him," Diederich suggested.

"I can't imagine where you got an idea like that..." Vincent said.

"You can pretend to leave the castle, then when he thinks we are gone, I will come back down stairs and scare the wits out of the idiot," Diederich suggested.

"Why can't I be the ghost?" Vincent whined.

"Because he's not going to be afraid of a man smaller than he is."

"I'm not short."

"You're smaller than I am," Diederich said. He was right. Plus with his nasty demeanor, he was naturally more intimidating in appearance than Vincent, despite being the less lethal of the two.

"I don't see anything suspicious in this castle, I'm going home," Vincent said loudly as he walked down the stairs and left the building. He doubled back around and watched through the castle's window, kneeling just in front of it in the snow.

A few minutes later, the man, still caked with with white chalk came walking forward. He walked around the first corridor for a bit. He looked side to side and peered up stairs to the second floor before disappearing down the hallway. Vincent quietly reentered the castle and grabbed a spear from one of the armored suits. He turned off all of the oil lamps lighting the first floor, before heading back upstairs. He could hear the man walking around downstairs, muttering to himself about the lamps. One by one, Vincent quickly turned off all of the lamps down stairs. This way, the only light in the castle would be the dim moonlight filtering through the glass windows. It was hard to see and everything had an appropriately creepy blue-grey glow to it. Diederich was in a spare room, gathering a sheet that was draped over some furniture. He and Vincent pulled off the white sheet. Vincent held up the sheet while Diederich looked through it. It was thin and light.

"Climb on my shoulders," Diederich told Vincent.

"Can you run like that?" Vincent asked. A taller ghosts would be scarier, especially with a spear, but if Diederich tumbled down the stairs with them both like this, they would be severely injured.

"The sheet is quite thin, and you don't weight that much. I should be fine," Diederich said. He picked up the sheet and handed it to Vincent. Vincent, against all better judgement, climbed on his shoulders and draped the sheet over them, disguising their bodies. It was clear that it was still two guys with a sheet over them, but from a distance, and with a stupid man, it would be rather effective. Diederich grabbed the spear through the sheet and handed it up towards Vincent. Diederich walked slowly out of the room with Vincent sitting on his shoulders.

"Who goes in my castle?" he yelled loudly. For whatever silly reason, Diederich was trying to fake a scottish accent, and the result was hilarious. The chalk dusted man turned around to face him. They stood up there, tall, Vincent waved the spear back and forth. The man's eyes were wide and his mouth was agape. They could both hear the sound of him pissing himself. And with that, they had chased the tosser right out of the castle while wearing nothing but white sheets pulled over heads like Charlie Brown on Halloween. It was stupid, but it worked.

"That was the most boring night I have ever spent in a castle," Vincent said. He stretched and yawned as Tanaka pulled the carriage in front of the castle. It really must have been some kind of punishment from Victoria.

"How was your night?" Tanaka asked.

"You know, boring as all hell," Vincent sighed.

"Oh really, then why did I see man running near by, screaming about ghosts?"

"Because he was an idiot?" Vincent responded. Tanaka was laughing but he knew what had transpired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be taking a short break from posting twice-weekly updates because I'm getting my ass kicked by thyroid disease.
> 
> However, this doesn't mean that you should stop watching Hannibal. After all, if Hannibal gets cancelled, well, I've been thinking up some torture techniques that I can use to break even a super manly guy like Dee. I love thinking about new ways to torture my characters. Did you know that I've never written about using meat hooks in torture before? Well, that is going to change if Hannibal gets cancelled. If you wanna' get Diederich off the hook, you better watch it. :)


	34. Single-Serving Skin

It was a calm day in the early spring. The snow had finally melted away, and the greenery was starting to bud up a look a little bit green again. London was getting more lively, and with it, murderers were back in the their full swing. No longer would they have to dig through permafrost to hide the bodies. Vincent had been called to a case that was so secret he hadn't even overheard people gossip about it. It was not so much a series of murders, because they had never found any bodies or evidence. Hence why he had been called in to investigate. Much like the case before, a series of teenage girls had gone missing. To where, nobody was quite sure. Teenage girls seemed to be so impossible to keep track of, it was a wonder that any women lived to adulthood at all in this day in age. At least this time they weren't washed up by the river. All of them were painters, or were taking art classes. All of the girls belonged to the upper class or upper middle class, some even were betrothed to nobles quite up in the line. It was no surprise that their parents were paying for secrecy. He could investigate his leads by himself, or he could find Diederich and make him do it. Vincent walked over to the man's apartment, to find the door opened. Vincent probably wouldn't have knocked on the door even if it was closed. Diederich was inside of his apartment, stacking wooden boxes. His two cats were cats were jumping around. The larger grey fluff ball was taking a ride on Diederich's shoulder and he moved things around.

"So we have a real case, this time," Vincent said. Diederich didn't turn around to face him.

"Is that why you have intruded on me as I am getting ready to move?" Diederich asked.

"Oh? And where are you going? Hopefully not some place where I can't pick the locks," Vincent asked.

"I had a house built," Diederich explained. There was not nearly enough explanation. It had been several months since their last case.

"Does that mean you're planning on moving back to Germany?" Vincent asked. He surely hoped not. It would be really inconvenient for Diederich to travel all the way to England every time Vincent needed him. After all, if Diederich thought the ocean and thousands of miles of land could get Vincent to leave him alone he was in for a rude awakening.

"Germany? Where I have no personal connections and my parents only hold resentment towards me? Please, if I have any home, it's here," Weston had been his only home for many years, he had no chance he had no plans of turning back now.

"Here as in with me, or here as in physically within the country of England?"

"You're a smart man, Vincent. Figure it out," Diederich said. It really would be too much to ask for him to speak on this, wouldn't it? He was blunt, and terse, almost to the point of rudeness whenever he spoke of any other subject. Yet somehow whenever this particular topic was mentioned he was as shy and demure as a blushing fucking virgin. He didn't dance about the issue so much as he ran away from it, hoping that the constant denial and avoidance would somehow make him less gay. It wouldn't. The sins of omission would not purify him in god's eyes, so why bother trying. It was truly infuriating.

"When?" And why had he not mentioned this earlier? He could have inflicted wonderful things such as furniture shopping with Rachel on him. Vincent was learning that in these cases, it was best to just sit back and let her do what she wanted. Pray for it to be over soon.

"I had been planning it since August," Diederich said casually. "It's not as large at the Phantomhive townhouse, but I don't have guests."

"A bunch of girls have gone missing. All of them were painters that sold paintings to this specific gallery. We're looking into that today. Drop your boxes, we're going shopping for some art," Vincent said.

"Then go investigate the owner, you're not a child, you can talk with someone without me baby sitting you," Diederich said. He was still carrying the two large crates. Vincent was quite sure whatever was in there was most likely very heavy. Most professional movers couldn't lift that much, and yet he was standing around casually with it.

"But I need your help," Vincent argued. He didn't care that Diederich was busy. He could write sonnets dedicated to how little he cared for Diederich's oh-too-convenient busyness. They would be terrible sonnet because Vincent is a lackluster writer, but they'd be sonnets, alright.

"You don't need my help, you just don't want to walk around London by yourself because you hate being alone."

"Please," Vincent pleaded. He pouted like a child.

"Fine," Diederich said, putting his boxes down. He doubted anyone was going to throw his things out. His cat jumped off his shoulder and onto the boxes, where it flopped down for a nap.

"I also have reservations for dinner at this wonderful restaurant," Vincent said.

"That was your fail safe bribe in case I said no, isn't it."

"We can make a date of it."

"It's a... date," Diederich said.

"Since you're agreeing to that, why not hold my hand?" Vincent asked. He held out his hand and smiled.

"I'm not holding your hand, people could see it," Diederich said.

They had walked to the art gallery, on the way there Vincent had told Diederich everything he knew about the case. It was easy to spot, but it was closed. A little handwritten sign stuck to the door said that the owner was out for a break. Perfect. Vincent picked open the locks while Diederich stood and looked out for him. Vincent and Diederich quickly walked in the building and locked the front door behind him. The paintings all had a single name under it: Nicole Victoria. No last name was listed. The styles of the paintings were all different but one thing was certain- they had had this strange aura to them. The subject matter was often disturbing, and yet there she was again, Ophelia. She didn't not look calm in this rendition, she looked wild and fierce, clawing at the last bits of life as she submerged below the water. As if the people in the paintings were alive and wanted to kill the viewer. It was unsettling to be surrounded by the dead, empty eyes of the canvases. But all of them had signs saying they were sold. The same artist surely could not have painted all of these. Even the case had told him that it was more than one painting, so why was one artist the name? Unless perhaps, it was the name of a club or organization. Diederich was already in the office while Vincent stared pensively. They were all signed with the same signature as well, Nicole Victoria. The signature the unifying, solid trait between all of these. Diederich looked out the office door. He had a gun in one hand while he looked at Vincent.

"Get in here before they get back!" Diederich hissed.

"Excuse me Dee, I am detectiving," Vincent said. He sauntered as slowly as possible towards the office. Diederich was raiding through the receipts. He had found the book that had the totals from the sales. The paintings, presumably were named "Nicole" with numbers next to them. Under the column with "paid to" the name listed was Viera. Every single one, Viera, Viera, Viera. Nicole. No other names were mentioned in any of the receipts. Vincent and Diederich were reading the receipts when a man opened the door.

"What are you doing in here!?" he shouted. This was probably the owner.

"We're detectives," Vincent said casually, pointing his pistol at the man's head.

"I don't care who you are! You can't be in here without a damned warrant! Get the hell out!" he said, as if he wasn't threatened by the pistol pointed at him. Vincent clicked it, turning around to face him.

"I work for the Queen, and I can blow out your brains sky high with impunity, now I'm going to ask you questions and if you try to screw me, I'm going to blow your kneecaps out until I get good answers. So start talking or I'll make you talk. What do you know about Sophia James? Emma Hill? Sara Kingsley? They all sold paintings at your gallery and now they've gone missing," Vincent said.

"They are the painters," he explained in a quivering voice, "Their work is displayed out there."

"Then why are all the paintings signed with the name Nicole Victoria?" Vincent asked.

"Nicole is their teacher. Many girls paint for her and she sells the paintings. I know of at least twenty different artists. I keep fifty percent and I don't ask many questions," he said. He was shaken up and sweating. Diederich was opening up drawers, getting papers out here and there. He skimmed through all the books as quickly as possible and tossed what he was done reading all over the floor.

"To whom and to where do you send the paycheck?" Vincent asked.

"A young girl named Viera picks it up, I pay them in cash," he said.

"What is her last name?" Vincent hissed. He pointed the pistol at the man's knee.

"I don't know, she just says that she's Nicole's errand girl," the man said. That greedy fuck. He'd sell paintings from Satan for money, wouldn't he?

"Fucking useless," Vincent sighed. He put the gun back in his pocket. The man gulped.

"I can't find anything stating different," Diederich said. Vincent sighed deeply. They left the gallery to leave the man to pick up the shambles of his office.

They were walking down the street while Vincent thought about things. That was useless. Know he had an idea of the suspects, Viera and Nicole. With two common names, it wouldn't do him a damn thing of good. What is he to do? Knock on every door in the country and ask if they've seen Nicole Victoria? By then, they would have already left, or killed the girls, or worse. There lots of girls out there, painting. Maybe they're being held captive, used as slaves to make money. Or perhaps its even worse. They're lured into what appears to be an art school, and then, when they're alone, they're sold off as sex slaves. There was never any school at all. So many girls, so many paintings. Vincent was standing still, leaning against a lap post. His mind was lost in thought, so he didn't really care to notice that Diederich had continued walking several yards without him, then had to double back to find Vincent lost in thoughts about murder and sex trafficking. The supplies had to be coming from somewhere. If they were selling in London, then they were probably also buying their supplies in London. After all, if they're doing that much artwork, they must have been buying up paint and canvas like Vincent bought up liquor and opium.

"Vincent," Diederich said.

"I'm thinking," Vincent said. He lit up a cigarette. It would help him think. Give him something to focus on so that his mind could be at work thinking of other things. Diederich took one of Vincent's and smoked it.

"Are you done thinking now?" Diederich asked.

"I was thinking that we should look at the local art supply stores, because they have to have a supplier," Vincent said.

"I'm hungry," Diederich complained.

"I told you we're going out for dinner later, goodness," Vincent chided him.

Vincent didn't know where art supply stores were located. He had never been to one, and Diederich sure as hell had never either. They were two unartistic young men stuck in the artists world. To get a hold of this, they would have to think like artists, but neither of them had any experience doing so. The differences between oil and gouache eluded them both. He walked past a young man who was painting a still life of a building on the sidewalk, but he didn't ask him for help because Vincent was a bull-headed idiot. No, he would totally find the store on his own without help from anyone. Because he was world-class detective and didn't need help finding something as simple as an art supply shop from anyone. Diederich trailed behind him and complained while smoking Vincent's cigarettes. They found one store after walking around the city for a few hours. It was a large store and it smelled like wet paint and chalk. People in unfashionable clothes stood isolated in the aisles, studying the supplies in isolated concentration. Vincent looked at the front desk, it was empty. Stores these days, the security was so law. He wondered how much money this shop lost a month due to petty theft.

"You're going to be polite and you're going to ask directions to other stores," Diederich told him.

"You fucking ask, you're the bloody assistant."

"Well hello, hello there," drawled out a creepy raspy voice. A cold hand placed itself on Vincent's shoulder. He could feel the long black nails and gaudy rings rapping against his shoulder. It was Undertaker.

"What are you doing here?" Vincent asked Undertaker, turning around to face him.

"Buying supplies to decorate coffins. Why are you here? Have you decided to make art with a canvas other than my flesh?"

"What is he talking about?" Diederich asked Vincent.

"I was simply referencing a violent tryst of bruises and passion we shared after-"

"Stop talking, I don't want to know," Diederich snapped at Undertaker. Vincent was so thankful for that intrusion.

"Rude," Undertaker commented.

"Whatever, we're on business," Vincent said and snapped his fingers. This was clearly a cue that Diederich should follow him. Diederich scowled at him as he walked away towards the back of the store.

"I'm not your damn dog, don't snap at me,"' Diederich said, but he followed Vincent anyways.

A man was sitting in the back room of the supply store, by a desk. He was eating a sandwich and drinking some carbonated juice. Vincent had a gun pointed at him. He dropped his sandwich on his desk. His eyes were wide, but he appeared to be more angry than scared. "Do you have any customers named Nicole or Viera?" Vincent asked him. His expression was terse, and his method of interrogation lacked grace and tact. It was all about the information. Vincent, despite appearing so, was not a smooth gentlemen. He was not a demon cloaked in fine black suits to gently coax the truth out of people. He was more like a drunken pirate, smoking cigarettes, haphazardly pointing his gun at people and pillaging whatever he wanted out of them. Tact was for people who didn't have blanket permission to kill whoever got in the way of their investigations.

"None of your business, get out of my backroom!" the man shouted at Vincent. Wrong answer.

"We're detectives," Vincent told the man. It was more like a warning. He was really more like a royally-sanctioned hitman than a detective. Except that hitmen tended to have more class. Vincent said he was a detective, but he had no formal training. His only job qualifications were that he was the first born male child of an infamous family who treated him worse than they treated the criminals. There were no civil service exams to be the queen's watchdog, though if they ever were instated, Vincent would be the reason why.

"Come back with a warrant from the yard."

"Which one? Left or right?" Vincent asked, waving his pistol at the man's legs. He was back to threatening to cripple people. What he lacked in tact, he made up for in efficiency.

"Damn it Vincent, you can't just threaten to blow out people's knee caps whenever you want information," Diederich said.

"Yes I can," Vincent said. He shot a hole in the man's floor. The man jumped out of surprise in his chair.

"We get orders from Viera, and they order many supplies, even things we don't normally supply. I charge them triple price and they pay for it all in cash. They are my favorite customer. We don't normally deliver but they pay a lot," the man blurted out. The only thing he liked more than business was being able to walk. Good on him.

"Give me the address," Vincent said. The man quickly got out a leather order book. He ripped out the page with the address on it and handed it Vincent in a hurry. His hands were shaking.

"Thank you," Vincent said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love studying cults. I was even the leader of a cult once. I basically watched like every documentary I could get a hold of about cults, specifically the Jonestown massacre. I was also pretty heavily inspired by the Manson family the Fundamentalist mormons, but the main inspiration for this arc is Jonestown. I'll put on a documentary and get some jewelry supplies out and make myself a very productive afternoon. I'm making a line of jewelry based off Crossing Lines. A line of jewelry based off a fanfic. Shit has gotten so fuckin' meta.
> 
> Next Friday is my birthday. I'm not sure why I am mentioning that, because I'll probably update then too because I'm going to my first visit with a new doctor so its not like I'm going out that night. Let's all hope that by the end of the summer I'll be feeling better. Last Friday I was at the post office with an armful of packages to be sent out, and two men were talking about how confused they were on using createspace. Having had actual experience with createspace, I explained that I am also a novelist, and asked them what they were confused by. And they laughed in my face. Well fuck you too, buddy.


	35. venom through iron wings still beats in symmetry

It had been a nice afternoon and dinner. They talked about things like normal people. Vincent was still planning his real wedding for his sham marriage to Rachel. Diederich understood the deep feelings of lament Vincent had for spending two hours at a florist. He also understood the lament of Vincent being married, which Vincent assured him, did not actually change the way he felt about Diederich had that he did not actually love Rachel. Their marriage was one of convenience and their friendship was completely platonic. That was as far as could be discussed in public, in case there were spies in dimly lit places waiting for Vincent to say something. He worked for the crown, and the crown was unpredictable. It was safe to just assume they were everywhere that was public. They had gone from the restaurant to walking around the city even though it was dark and there was nothing they actually wanted to see. They were just content with each other's company. It was like going out with Rachel except that at the end of everything, this was a person whom he actually wanted to get married to, and go out on not-platonic dates with, and not have to worry about being killed for falling in love with. Sure, the scandal and danger was always something to be excited by, but the excitement wore thin. About a year ago they were taking their vows to be prefects at Weston. Diederich let it be known that he thought that Vincent was a sorry excuse for a prefect, and that it was shameful that anyone let a slacker like him take charge of anything. Vincent wasn't so sure that opinion had changed, but a lot of other things did.

"You look nervous," Vincent said. Diederich shook his head. He was so nervous. He just wouldn't admit to it. Vincent was getting lost in his thoughts, letting himself be preoccupied by feeling of the past instead of feelings of the walking towards his townhouse right now.

"Stay with me," Vincent said, offering him a smoke. It was late. They were currently sitting on a couch near the entrance of Vincent's town house in London. It was close to the front door. They had migrated there just by-chance. Tanaka was near by, sorting things out. Rachel had not come home yet. She was out with her sister partying like two single ladies because the ring on Rachel's finger did not matter. Frances was at the manor in the countryside, probably asleep already so she could get up at the crack of dawn.

"I have to feed my cats," Diederich excused himself. Of course, he could not stay very long, not long enough for a in depth private conversation. The kind that can't be said in public places. Damn him. He was getting Vincent's hopes up for naught but Vincent could not be vanquished this type of tactic.

"I'll send Tanaka to feed your cats," Vincent said.

"Tanaka, can you please go feed his cats?" Vincent asked Tanaka. Tanaka happened to be close enough to hear him to ask them. He had great timing. He was probably the best butler to ever be a butler. Some could even say that he was one hell of a butler.

"Of course," Tanaka said. He left the room quickly. The sound of the front door opening and closing shut could be heard from the sitting room.

"How does he even know where I live? And how will he get a key?" Diederich asked.

"He has a key," Vincent said.

"Are you just passing out copies of my apartment key to people? Do I need to buy a colony of bears to keep you out of my house?" Diederich asked. Vincent wasn't just handing them out, and of course he would make one than one copy. What kind of fool was he? The person who steals a friend's key out of his pocket to only get a single key out of it? Of course not, that would be madness. Not to mention a waste of the key smith's fees. He got at least five of them.

"It won't do any good, I'll just bring Frances. She's an excellent marksman," Vincent said. He had it all thought out. Diederich stared at him.

"I'm avoiding you," Diederich said. At least he would admit to that much. Vincent stood up and started to walk towards a different room. Just because he could. Diederich followed him like a lost puppy.

"You do a terrible job of it," Vincent commented. He and Diederich were sitting in the lounge. Vincent walked over to the liquor cabinet and took out two crystal tumblers. Diederich sat down on a dark purple brocade couch that had gold details. It matched the green, purple, and gold colored decor that Rachel picked out. It was gaudy but the only thing Vincent did in this room was drink and smoke and after a few drinks and smokes the colors all blurred into one fuzzy memory. Vincent poured two glasses of brandy and sat on the couch next to him. Diederich took a glass from him.

"You're not going to make this easy on me, are you?" Diederich asked. Since when did Vincent make things easy for him? According to Vincent, he'd make even the simplest task a supernatural obstacle course full of sphinxes and pissed off ghosts. But it was always nice for his efforts towards making Diederich's life a living hell being appreciated.

"It's only as difficult as you make it out to be for yourself. It's really not hard to say it."

"You have no idea how I feel about these things," Diederich said. He was right. Vincent didn't know how he felt at all, but he wasn't even giving Vincent a chance to try and be less callous than usual. Sure, he acted like he was weaving a never ending plot and that he was always fourteen thousand steps ahead of everyone else, but it was mostly for show. Most of the time, he was barely even a single step ahead and he was making it all up as it happened. He was just great at making other people think he had more ammunition than would fit in his cargohold. To the outside he was the haughty noble who nobody could catch, who couldn't be pinned down, who couldn't be outwilled or out-wiled; but once you took off the glamour, he was just a scarred young man. Covering up the damage of the past with wild boasts and fancy clothes, but those things couldn't erase that unchangable thing hiding underneath the disguise. For a second, he thought he could show it all to Diederich, but he wasn't going to show the man his scars if he wouldn't do the same.

"I can't understand you better if you don't talk to me about it," Vincent told him. Diederich sipped idly on his drink. He didn't understand the point of self loathing. Diederich was the self loathing type, Vincent was the one with the grandiose ego. He lived through too much of his life with everyone else hating him and wanting him dead. Vincent did need to add more to it. Why bother? He would be one of the very few people on earth who didn't want him dead.

"Oh come on, I kill people as an occupation and the things I do for fun are only marginally less immoral. Do you really that I'm going to judge you for anything you tell me? And even if I did, what kind of moral weight do my words hold over you?" Vincent asked. He wasn't a moral man. He killed people for a living and even then he dicked around more than he killed people. As far as hitmen went, he wasn't all that great. Sure, he killed them, but he was easily distracted.

"They hold a lot over me, because," Diederich said, and then stopped the sentence there. Just as it was getting good. He had let it out for two seconds before reeling it back in. As though his thoughts were perverse and had to be kept locked away at all times. Which they were, but keeping the audience in mind, perverse would have been very welcome.

"Becauuuse..." Vincent drawled, urging him to finish that trail of thought.

"Damn it, Vincent."

"I have all night to hear you say it. I'll even play you a soundtrack on the piano."

"That won't help," Diederich said. And good thing too, because Vincent was terrible at the piano. He didn't even know how to play it. Frances was the one who took piano lessons. Vincent had never even touched the damn thing out of fear she might cut his hands off. Diederich set the glass he was holding on the table. Diederich tried to reach forward, as though he wanted to kiss him, but Vincent stopped him from doing it.

"I'm not letting you distract me with kisses or debauchery, not until you say it," Vincent told him. He held Diederich's wrists in his hand.

"You know the answer, and if you don't, you certainly think that you do," Diederich said. Now he was getting better at avoiding the topic. He'd just throw it away from his problems and towards the mention of Vincent's know it all attitude. Vincent wasn't go grab onto the bait. There would be no distractions. He would overcome his nature to being easily distracted.

"Remove all doubt in my mind," Vincent said. He was trying to be supportive.

"You are not a man who doubts himself," Diederich said. It was a nicer way of calling Vincent a self-assured, arrogant prick.

"But you are," Vincent said. He would turn the conversation directly back to the topic of the night.

"It's not your problem to deal with," Diederich told him. He wouldn't even admit to the problem. The lack of admitting was the problem, but it was really very circular. He would not admit that he had a problem, but he also knew that he had a problem that he was actively trying to avoid. It was a merry-go-round of pointless selfhatred.

"You've made me an active player in your game of self hatred and I want out of it," Vincent told him. It wasn't the greatest choice of words to be had in the history of mankind but he was trying.

"Then I'll leave."

"Please, don't leave," Vincent said. Vincent looked up at him with pleading eyes, "What will you do afterwards? Will you go forward, never knowing what would have happened if you were just strong enough to admit that you loved me?" He asked. He didn't want Diederich leave him, not tonight, and not on any night either.

"I always thought I could go on and live normally if I ignored what I felt and followed the rules. If I run long enough, if I worked hard enough, if I stayed by myself, I would never have to confront the evil inside of me. You've ruined that for me, you've dragged me down into a world of sorrow, debauchery and murder. You have extracted every nasty part of me and made it into a perverse celebration of vulgarity, and now I'm afraid to look into myself in fear of what I might have to see."

"You don't have to do it alone," Vincent offered. Diederich looked like even saying these things hurt him, as if with every word he spoke he'd taken a step into a pile of broken glass. Vincent wanted to replace that hurt expression with a smile but he didn't know wasn't a great offer but it's what Vincent had. It was really all he could say to make the celebrations of vulgarity more inviting. If they were going to walk through hell, then in the very least, they would never have to do so alone. Vincent wasn't a kind of loving man and what few feelings he had were twisted by his demented personality, but he was trying his best. And he didn't just try that for anyone, either.

"I love you," Diederich admitted. There it was. He said it softly, not biting the words on their merry way out of his mouth. It was less than two seconds of a sort of feeling that Vincent felt when Diederich said that. Vincent wrapped his arms around Diederich and embraced him. Maybe it wasn't warmth that Vincent felt, but the feeling of being a little less numb.

"I love you too."

“Your back feels really tense,” Vincent said. He could feel it even through his leather gloves. Diederich's muscles were wound with more tension than a tightly strung doll. The elastics could have snapped at any moment, leaving him in pieces all over the floor. “Let me give you a back rub.”

“Alright then,” Diederich said. He stripped off his jacket and waistcoat, wearing his starched white button up shirt. Vincent reached around and started unbuttoning his shirt. His clothes fell rumpled on the floor of Vincent's normally spotless bedroom.

“This is strange,” Diederich said.

“You've seen me in a state of undress, so it's not that strange,” Vincent said, as he tossed the shirt on a little table.

  
“I'm not a show off like you,” Diederich replied. His undressed torso was basically only ever in the changing rooms, and all the other students at weston were so busy getting into their cricket uniforms to a single one ever glanced at his boy. The morning laps he ran and the weights he lifted every single day had carved his muscles into those of a pale god. He had nothing to be ashamed of. Yet Vincent, with his thin, lanky build and skin scarred over so many times it took on a different texture, hadn't any shame at all.  
  
“Well thats a damn shame because you are built. Seriously. Can we work out together because I'm not just lusting over you, I am jealous. Also, do you shave your chest?” Vincent asked as he groped Diederich's chest.

“Please stop talking,” Diederich said. He was starting to become flushed and red with embarrassed.

“What? I'm just saying, you'd make Adonis jealous. If you were a princess, wars would be seized for your hand in marriage.”  
  
“So you're saying you'd go to war for my love?”  
  
“I'd kill legions just to touch you, but lucky for me, I haven't the need to,” Vincent said. He stroked the man's chest lovingly, like gently caressing a marble stature. Leaving it forever stained with the oil of his hands. He could feel the delicate muscles sculpted so carefully from years of strict routine.  
  


“Lie down on my bed,” Vincent said. He laid down on the bed, his face buried into the pillow. The bed was comfortable and plush. He was breathing deeply and evenly, to calm his nerves, but Diederich has no idea what Vincent might do.

“Are you just taking a gander at my ass? Or are you going to do something?” Diederich asked.  
  
“I have the most beautiful person I have ever seen laying prostrate beneath me, I want to savor every moment,” Vincent said. Diederich let out a deep sigh. Even in this moment, he wasn't going to surrender to Vincent's constant melodrama. If he did, it wouldn't be as a fun.

Vincent took a quick stop into his bathroom and got out a bottle of a relaxing message oil that was infused with lavender, copal, and rosemary. He went back to the bedroom, to find Diederich in a relaxed position, possibly smiling and gripped onto to Vincent;s pillow. He was staring at him and the bottle he was holding. He uncorked the bottle of massage oil, that was infused with lavender and mint. It felt cool and soothing against his warm hands. He rubbed the oil into Diederich shoulder muscles, kneading down nice and hard. The man beneath him groaned pleasure.

“Feeling better?” Vincent asked. He may or may not have learned how to give one hell of a back massage from one of Lau's girls. They taught him how to please a man. Diederich was completely calm and not at all tense. It was something akin to a miracle. Vincent wanted to see much farther his skilled hands could work miracles.

“Flip over,” Vincent said. Diederich turned over and faced Vincent, his lips curled into a small smile. Vincent bent over and kissed him on the corner of the mouth gently.

“And what are you doing now?” he asked.  
  
“Close your eyes, and think of something pleasant,” Vincent said. Diederich obeyed him like a dog. With this oil coated finger tips, he traced down his chest and found himself manhandling Diederich's cock. Close your eyes, and think of something pleasant, but Vincent didn't need to take him to another word between times to experience his pleasant thoughts.

“Oh dear,” Diederich's slipped through his lips, unable to contain them. He covered his mouth with one hand, and with his free hand, Vincent moved it away.

“Don't cover your mouth, I want to hear you sing,” Vincent said, piercing him with his cold brown eyes.

“I don't sing,” Diederich retorted, his face red like an apple, panting heavily as Vincent gave him a hand job.  
  
“Oh you will, trust me,” Vincent said, and he responded with a long line of gasps as he hit his orgasm and slumped back onto the bed. Vincent toweled off his stomach and laid down next to him and stroked his hair. He wrapped his arms around the naked man and Diederich fell alseep like that.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: part of this chapter is a retcon posted on 4/7/2013
> 
> Romance is the achilles heel of my writing because romance is so boring to me in real life that I can't even care about it in my writing. I confess that I am not a perfect writer. (spoiler alert: nobody is)
> 
> The title I totally took from Crystal Castles song "Insectica". I mean more than half of the chapters have titles that are ham-handed references to Crystal Castles. But Insectica is special because the cover image is also inspired by that song. Here's the lyrics! "Your power eclipses me/ As I take my place beneath thee /I want to be in your colony / I want to serve your queen /For the venom through iron wings/Still beats in symmetry/".


	36. You're An Infuriating Man

Vincent woke up late in the morning in his london townhouse. The sun was already shining through the red semitransparent silk curtains. Diederich was sleeping next to him. He looked much less grumpy when he was somewhere in dream world. It was a pleasant way to wake up. He liked the companionship, and the feeling of not being alone. Nights were always hardest for him, the dark the encased him and the stale night chill made him feel nervous. It brought back memories of less pleasant times. But knowing that someone was sleeping next to him, completely ignorant of the dark thoughts entertaining his mind made Vincent feel more at ease. Diederich was sleeping soundly on the pillow next to his, Vincent's arm had gone numb from him sleeping on it. Vincent took his free hand and ran his fingers through Diederich's hair, rustling it gently. He still had a knife stashed beneath his pillow. Diederich stirred, his eyes opened and he looked at Vincent with an expression of grogginess and confusion.

"What are you doing," Diederich asked. He was smiling, perhaps he wasn't entirely aware of it, and too tired to retain his perpetually grumpy exterior. Or perhaps the events of last night had managed to bring his mood back up from the abyss of malcontent.

"Good morning," Vincent said.

"You're an infuriating man," Diederich said and he got out from the bed. Vincent sighed and got out of bed, it was high time that they get to work for the day, any how.

The carriage approached the area that Vincent had tracked down. Tanaka drove the carriage to the area, which was a building encased entirely by large, brick walls topped with a spiked iron grid. The gate itself was a massive, iron behemoth of a gate with a huge lock on it. A brick building could be seen through the gate work, and little else. Tanaka pulled the carriage further up the road and parked it in a wooded area, so that it could be used as a get away. Vincent and Diederich exited the carriage and walked back towards the fenced in building. The brick walls were tall, tall enough that it would be nearly impossible for a small woman to jump over them by herself, or even with help. Even if she made it up the bricks there were sharp iron spikes at the top. A guy with athletic skills like Diederich could easily jump over them and land safely, Vincent could make it easily if he had some help, but these girls were part of the elite. They had no physical endurance, they were painters. If they tried to scale the brick wall and leap over the iron grid, they'd end up stabbed and have severely broken bones. There was no escape for them. They by the iron gate, the gate was locked. They stood by the gate until a young girl walked by them.

"Excuse me," Vincent yelled as he waved at the girl. She was carrying a large brown folder. She looked over at them with a look of surprise and approached the gate. She smiled and seemed to be happy and friendly.

"I'll go get Viera to unlock the gate for you, ok?" she asked them. Vincent nodded.

"Thank you very much," he said to the girl, who skipped off in the opposite direction from where she was going.

"That was easier than I expected it would be," Diederich said.

"Hi, I'm Viera," chimed a tiny girl. She held out a large, iron key and unlocked the iron gate. Viera was a tiny little pixie of a girl, with curly brown hair streaked auburn by the sun and bright green eyes. She wore a pale pink gown of a high waist, without a corset paired with brown riding boots that had flowers stuffed into the eyelets, and a brown top hat decorated with piles of butterfly wings and flowers. Around her neck were pearls and a ring of freshly picked flowers. She had freckles and a smile. Sometimes killers some in unconventional packaging, but Vincent had never seen one this cute before.

"My name is Vincent Phantomhive, and I am a detective here with my partner, Diederich Von Wolf," he explained. Viera tipped her tophat and curtsied in their direction. Diederich stared at her as if she was some sort of bizarre person from another planet.

"Viera, Co-Captain of this fabulous little ship," she said. Vincent shook her hand politely.

"How is that possible when you are inland?" Diederich asked.

"All things are possible with a blessing and hard work," Viera said.

"Alright then, Captain Viera," Vincent said. If she wanted to be the captain, then he'd play along. "I'll play it straight with you, you've attracted a lot of suspicion to your group of girls and I was sent here to investigate you."

"Am I in trouble?" she asked. She looked scared.

"No. It's just that some of the girls who are painting for you have not returned home in some time and their parents are very, very worried about them. So they sent me to check up on them," Vincent lied. Viera looked relieved. Diederich kept a straight face and said nothing. Vincent wondered what was going around in his head. Maybe he was mentally undressing Vincent. Or maybe Vincent was fantasizing about someone else fantasizing over him. He should ask Diederich that question, if only to see his reaction to it.

"Oh, well, they're working very hard right now, if you want you can see our work shop," Viera said.

"What is the layout of your building?" Diederich asked.

"Layout?" Viera asked.

"What is in the buildings?"

"Oh! Well, at the northern most building, we have the dormitories where everyone sleeps, along with the kitchen. But The Goddess and I share a suite in the church, which is waaaay over on the right. In the center most building we have our art studio where we make our paintings to sell. Does that help?" Viera said, pointing to each building. This girl was hyper and practically bounced with every word that she spoke.

"Yes, thank you. Can we have a tour?"

"I'm so excited, we never get guests here. I want to show you everything!"

"We're very interested in learning about your artwork," Vincent said.

"That makes me so happy! Let's hold hands!"

"What?"

"Haaaaands," Viera chimed. She held out her hands and wiggled her fingers. Vincent and Diederich looked at her. Vincent held her hand. It was weird and completely inappropriate, but whatever. If she wanted to hold his hand and profess herself as a pirate captain, then he'd put up with it. At least she smelled nice, like cinnamon and expensive floral perfume. A little too much of it, though. Diederich looked down at Viera's hand for a second. She waved it at him again, and slowly, he held it in his own. He looked very uncomfortable with this particular situation.

"He's scared because it's his first time holding hands with a girl," Vincent explained. Diederich frowned, but Vincent knew this to be true. Viera led them by the hands towards the central building where the art studio was. She was walking so much as nearly skipping backwards with each step. Did this girl ever stop smiling?

"Aw, but he's so handsome!" Viera said. Vincent felt a pang of jealousy. He knew he was being silly after all, any one with eyes could tell that Diederich's body was carefully crafted by a smiling god and years of trying to strangle the selfloathing inside of him with a rigorous exercise regimen.

"Am I not handsome?" Vincent asked.

"No offense meant, but you look like the kind of a man who prefers other men," Viera said. Diederich was laughing. Of course, he had no reason to be laughing because he too, was guilty of the same thing. Vincent glared at him but that only made him go into a fit of awkward laughter. Viera was left unsure of what the joke was, but she smiled at him, anyways, pretending like she did.

"Germans, they have no sense of humor," Vincent said.

"Not true! The Goddess is from Germany, she said she came from a clan of witches in a cursed forest, she was bestowed her magical powers and title from a werewolf!" Viera said. She spoke of her goddess with more love and fervor than most actual priests talked about god. At least she was happy and cheerful about her delusions.

"...I can tell you for sure that werewolves and witches do not exist in Germany," Diederich said.

"Is that a metaphor for something?" Vincent asked.

"No, it's the truth. She's a real witch, and she has magical powers," Viera said.

"How do you know that for sure?" Vincent asked her.

"Well, one night four years ago my parents dropped me off at a street corner in some city, and drove off. They abandoned me right there, and I had thought my life was hopeless. I had no friends, no beau, and no hope. But I had a blessing," Viera said. She did not seem sorrowful at her reminiscing of her previous trauma. They walked through the lawn, little wild violets were growing in the grass and small cluster of planted flowers accented the flowers that grew around the buildings. This was it. They had found the girliest place in England.

"I saw The Goddess extracting life force from a man, at first I was scared but then she told me that it was alright. She told me of her powers and of her tremendous gift. I felt this feeling hope, and of happiness when she embraced me. It was a spiritual blessing. Ever since I have dedicated my life to making this world a better, happier, place through her blessings," Viera said. Tears formed in the inner corners of her eyes as she smiled at them.

"You are very dedicated to your goddess," Vincent said. Something about this seemed suspicious. Lifeforce? He wanted so badly to speak with this goddess.

"We all are. Please, let me show you our gallery," Viera said. She opened the door which led to a long building, built like a massive art studio. The walls were painted pink and decorated with paintings. Girls all of ages sat at their stations and made art work. They wore colorful, loose clothing and copied Viera's use of fresh cut flowers. Many of them were clearly well to do, with their lavish clothes. They looked happy, well fed, and as though they were at a peaceful mind. They smiled as they painted in a calm, meditative silence. These girls could be like any of the young women Vincent cared about. This could be Rachel, an outcasted young lady with a health problem, and a personality not well liked. This could be Frances. A girl living alone with dishonorable parents while her older brother is too incapacitated in the basement with whips and torture to help save her from these liars. What if he had lost them to this cult? Vincent wondered of their brothers, of their fathers, of their fiances. Did not they not care? Did these girls not have a single person who would have been hurt to see them locked away here, forever exploited and deceived? They seemed happy but Vincent couldn't imagine happiness in being completely cut off from the rest of society and buying a really bad lie about witches.

"Are these paintings that you sell?" Vincent asked.

"Indeed. All the girls paint whatever they like, and then the goddess signs them into life. No painting is complete without the blessing of the goddess. With the money we make here we can afford to live together peacefully. We have a society without restrictions, without the oppression of the grim outside world. Alone, we could not be artists, but with the blessing of a goddess we come together."

"Where are your paintings?" Diederich asked.

"I'm a writer, I can't paint to save my life," Viera confessed.

"We have guests!" Viera cheered. All of the girls in the room, previously studying, now turned to face Vincent and Diederich. They looked as though they had just seen the queen of england. Or perhaps, more likely, they looked like a bunch of girls who were bursting with adolescent hormones who had not seen a member of male subspecies in quite some time. In either way, they were happy.

"They are interested in learning more about our beautiful art," Viera said. A few of the girls gasped loudly.

"I am Earl Vincent Phantomhive, and this is my assistant, Diederich Von Wolf," Vincent said. Viera gestured to Diederich, pointing to him and mouthing the words, 'total hottie'.

"He's single~!" she said. Alright, no. No. No. No. Vincent was seething on the inside and perfectly calm on the outside, even though his anger was boiling, Possessive? No... of course not. He won Diederich fair and square in a bet. A girl approached them. She was a blonde girl who wore ribbons braided into her long, wavy hair. She had garish, mismatched clothing and jewelry made out of wild flowers. Paint stained her hands, but she looked at peace. She greeted Viera with a quick hug and a bow, a bizarre combination of informal and overly formal communication.

"You need decoration," she said. She slipped a necklace of flowers onto Diederich's neck. This type of estrogen was not Diederich's strong suit. He was a man who was fueled primarily by repression and testosterone. Vincent, in the least, had a sister, and he had Rachel who was basically his best friend in the entire world. Diederich only had a brother, his mother did not care for him, and he spent most of his formative years in an all-male school where even if his offtime, he did not hang around women. Women were pretty much like aliens to him. Diederich had no idea how to handle them, and so he said nothing. He tried to pretend like the pink cosmo and daisy chain was not hanging around his neck, but it was of no use. It clashed with his drab suit.

"And you as well," she said, tucking a pink rose behind Vincent's ear. Vincent blinked in confusion but he decided to just go along with it. Pink was not his color. Red would have at least matched his jacket. Viera and the other girl smiled at them both. He grasped Diederich's hand. He may as well have, now that they were both bedecked by flowers. When in the cult of crazy girls, do as the crazy girls do.

"Well, if I didn't look gay before, I certainly do now," Vincent said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name Viera means "faithful". It's not subtle. 
> 
>  
> 
> I made some jewelry based on this fic. It's for sale. Obviously I don't think that many people have 25$ to drop on a fanfic necklace so it's named secret letters and not "silly slash fanfiction", but it looks nice. at least look at them. I put so much time into making these. They started off as some book plates that I painted, varnished,then I backed some papers with several layers of cardstock, sealed with waterproof sealant and them domed the top of these mofuckers with some ice jewelrs resin for a very shiny, long lasting glass like finish. then I mixed them with various crystal beads, keycharms (painted black to match). 
> 
> http://demonmilk.storenvy.com/products/7267641-secret-letters-lacrimosa-necklace
> 
> http://demonmilk.storenvy.com/products/7267179-secret-letters-key-necklace


	37. To Lower Your Defense

"Viera, we really need to talk to you in private," Vincent said. It's not just that standing in a room full of girls who eyed him like a tigers eyes raw meat was uncomfortable, but there were missing girls here. That was the main priority. Find the girls. Make sure they're safe. Then apprehend Viera and 'her goddess' aka Nicole Victoria and bring them into custody. What they were doing was similar enough to other groups, like shakers, or the luddites. But what they were doing was also similar to kidnapping and the stuffy upper class is never going to accept their daughters running off to join a 'harmless' group of all-female artisans with a matriarchal, cult-like leader. Not to mention that it could still be a front for prostitution or human trafficking.

"Sure thing! Let's head into my office~" Viera cheered. Diederich was looking around the room, girls were staring back at him. He was a man who had spent most of his life alone, and later in the company of men and only men. He was completely introverted and he was brought up into a land of pink, flowers, and bedecked with a floral lei. It was a weird, weird experience in his life and Vincent was holding his hand through it. Vincent would have said that Frances would have been the better choice to assist him in this, but she disliked being trussed up with flowers and pink almost as much as Diederich did. Vincent was hoping a beau would soften her up, but as it turned out, Frances found a man who had a mutual love of hunting, sport and fencing; and wouldn't think of spending time with a softer woman. She found the one man in England who wouldn't be scared or offended by her fierce personality. Vincent wasn't sure if he should be proud or if he should buy Alexis a funeral plot as wedding gift.

"Office, office!" she cheered. She skipped there. Diederich and Vincent followed her. Vincent was lost in thought, but he was brought back when Viera lead them to where the dorms were. Viera opened the doors to the dormitory. The walls were covered with a pin floral wall paper. The doors were decorated with colorful name plates and tables with vases of fresh cut flowers lined the hall. They walked past a girl who was sweeping the floors. Vincent had never seen anyone who actually looked happy to do housework.

"I don't think I have ever seen anyone so excited to visit their office," Diederich commented.

"I don't know, I use my office for private time and I find that pretty enjoyable."

"So do I!" Viera chimed. Vincent was certain that he and Viera did not have the same definition of 'private time'. The door of Viera's office was painted with a small mural of a pirate with fairy wings, with the similar appearance of Viera. Vincent realized that this meant to be part of Viera's fantasy. She took a key out from under her top hat and unlocked a heavy lock that was on the door of her office.

Viera's office was small office with a window that opened to the warm breeze. Vincent noticed it from the outside. On the outside of her window was a little flower box stuffed with pansies and gerber daisies. The walls of her office were painted a dark blue color, with a mural of a storming sea. She had quite a few bookshelves, all crudely made, possibly by Viera herself. She had stacks of leather bound books and books with unique, wooden covers. They looked all handmade. There were framed paintings of fairies and pirates. A little photo frame sat on a shelf by the window sill that had a picture of Viera and some other girl on it. Viera gestured to two mismatched and ragged old stuffed chairs that were sitting in front of her worn wooden desk. She had a candle and vase of lilac blossoms by her side. On a table in the back was a tea pot and a tea set made from mismatched floral tea cups. Vincent and Diederich sat at the old stuffed chairs. They were comfortable but well worn. Viera's lounged on a small red velvet fainting couch that was positioned behind her desk. The room smelled like beeswax candles, and lilacs.

"Viera, I have a list of the young women I am looking for and if possible, I need you to tell me exactly where they are," Vincent said. He took a note from his pocket.

"Sure thing, Vinny!" Viera cheered. She leaned back against the couch and propped her feet on her desk, covering some papers.

"Don't call me that, and please act more seriously. These girls have family that is looking for them. This is very serious, they wouldn't send me here if it wasn't a matter of dire circumstances," Vincent reminded her. He rarely ever thought of seriousness to be a particularly wanted quality, but this girl had no idea how much trouble she was in.

"Where is Sarah Winthrop?" Vincent asked, reading off the note.

"She's in the field today," Viera explained.

"Ashley Harrington?" Vincent asked.

"Painting, probably," Viera replied, she sighed like this was some kind of boring task.

"So none of these girls are dead?" Vincent asked. He held out the list and Viera sat up straight and gave the note a quick read over. She paused for a few seconds, then looked at Vincent. He didn't look like a happy man, and the tall brunette next to him didn't look friendly. They were not a friendly welcoming committee. They were a not-so-merry band of assassins.

"Nope! They're all happy and safe. Why on earth would they not be safe here?" Viera asked Vincent. She seemed confused by this entire situation. It looked like there were a bunch of girls who were kidnapped by some kind of cult and then forced to engage in unpaid labor in a communal setting. The whole talk of fringe religion and 'goddess' was 'cult enough. Viera was not aware that this was a cult. Wonderful.

"Can you gather these girls here?" Vincent asked her. Viera sighed and took the note out of Vincent's hand. She stood up and opened the door of her office. Vincent and Diederich leaned over to watch what she was doing. She waved over another girl.

"Hey! Can you please get these girls for me?" Viera asked. The girl nodded in reply. Viera went back to sitting down on the couch.

"What are these books for?" Diederich asked.

"These are all my writings," Viera said.

"I thought this was a gathering of artists," Vincent said.

"Well, yes, all of us here are skilled artists, except for me. In that way I am sort of useless when it comes to hailing the goddess but she promised me that I'll always have her blessing as long as I help her."

"What do you do to help her?" Vincent asked.

"I find the girls and I bring them here," Viera said.

"Where do you find them?"

"Everywhere. It's not hard to find miserable young women. They look to their sisters and mothers and their future and they see no promise. The best future anyone here can look forward to is a husband who doesn't beat her. I bring them over here and show them that they don't have to live in an oppressive society if they don't want to. If they want to stay, they can stay. If they want to leave, they can leave. But I've never had any girl who has been want to return to her family. Sometimes we have to lie and pretend that we're a bunch of art teachers or tutors, but we're only here because it's the best place to be a lady in England," Viera explained. By the time her explanation was over, there was a soft knock on the door. Viera got up and opened the door. A group of young ladies were standing behind it. Viera waved them all in, the lot of them barely fit into the small office. Women are very efficient. If you tried to get a gathering of boys over at Weston, it would've taken at least an hour, and that's if nobody on that list was cutting class.

"Is it alright if I interview them each using your office?" Vincent asked Viera.

"Only they want to talk to you," Viera said.

"Can you all please wait outside while I do this?" Vincent asked them. The girls all shuffled out of the room, leaving Vincent and Diederich alone in the office.

"You too, my lady," Vincent said. Diederich glared at him and left the room. Vincent produced a copy of the first list. They were all standing out in the

"Sarah Winthrop?" Vincent asked. A blonde girl wearing a loose fitted lavender gown stepped forward.

"Yes?" she replied in a quiet voice. She tried to not look Vincent in the eyes. She glanced up at him to see what he looked like but she looked frightened.

"Can I talk to you please?" Vincent asked. He flashed her his charming smile. Sarah looked back to Viera.

"It's alright, we're waiting out here," Viera said. Sarah nodded and followed Vincent into the office. Vincent sat on the couch behind the desk but Sarah remained standing. This couch was comfortable.

"When did you first arrive to this... commune?" Vincent asked.

"I ran away from home and I met Viera by chance," Sarah confided.

"Why did you run away from home? Your parents are worried about you."

"My fiance hurt me, and they wouldn't let me break it off," Sarah said. She was staring at her hands while she spoke. Her hands were covered with callouses and remains of paint etched into the lines of her hands. Her lavender dress, which appeared to be more like a night gown had speckles of paint here and there.

"He hurt you in what way?" Vincent asked. Sarah shook her head, her long blonde hair waved back and forth against her shoulders and over her face.

"I just want to stay here," Sarah said. She blotted a corner of her sleeve cuff against her eye.

"Sarah, I apologize for bringing up a difficult topic, but this place has come under serious investigation for young women being kidnapped from their families," Vincent explained.

"If someone was hurting you they would say any lie to get you back just so they could do it again," Sarah said. Her tone was harsh and she walked out of the room.

This pattern continued with all of the girls. Some of them just didn't want to get married. All of them disliked men and the idea of being near or with women. Most of them seemed quite unhappy with being left alone with Vincent for even a few minutes. It reminded of him of when he and Rachel had met. Her parents had set up a lavish ball that was far out of their budget just to get Rachel married off as soon as possible. Like any defiant woman, she spent the entire evening stowed away by a balcony outside reading a book. Vincent, after being dragged there by a group of his friends, found himself on the same balcony with his own copy of the same exact book. Still, some of them had been hurt by their fiances, some had been hurt by their parents. All of them were so vulnerable. They would believe any one with a kind word to lend them a hand. Viera and Nicole had kind words, they had an escape. If someone had given Vincent the same option, so many years ago, to escape his personal hell and abandon his family, he would have followed them into the sunset and never looked back. He understood how they could stay here- this, after all, was the best place for them. They weren't hurting anymore. They looked happy. One of them was even conversing with Diederich in german. With that investigation, they were dismissed. They were happy and healthy, and matched the given descriptions Vincent had for them.

"Well, that was a waste of time that could have been spent hailing the goddess through hardwork," Viera said. Diederich and Viera went back in her office, and they resumed their previous positions.

"Viera, please, you have to understand how other peoples think about this," Vincent told her.

"Okay, I'm listening," Viera said. She leaned over her desk and looked at Vincent with stern eyes.

"I have a sister who I watch over because our parents died. If she disappeared and never said a word to me, I would be shocked, hurt and I would demand to know where she is. I would have to assume the worst," Vincent said.

"You know what I think? I think you don't understand what it's like to have a society who doesn't value you. But here, we're not just women, we're not submissive angels who have to wait on our husbands, we're free. We're happy. For once we've managed to create a paradise where women can be free without being oppressed by men," Viera said.

"Not all men are evil, Viera," Vincent said. He was not that kind of man, in fact, he really didn't know very many men who were that kind of man. Sure, some men weren't great around the fairer sex, but they were not trying to be malicious. Even then, he probably only knew the vilest of men out there because he was a professional hitman and was exposed to criminals much more frequently than others. He was always a little bit apprehensive when Rachel or Frances went out by themselves but it less to do with him viewing them incapable of protecting themselves, and more to do with how often he had seen people being murdered.

"Imagine I gave you a plate of scones and one of the scones was poisoned, and I told you to eat one and it made you sick. After all, not all the scones were poisoned and you were clearly at fault for biting the wrong one. You don't understand how these girls feel because you've never been put in a place beneath a man."

"Yes he has," Diederich said. Vincent elbowed him. Now was not the time.

"The laws of this country are not set solely against women. The person who is upholding these oppressive laws and customs, is a woman," Vincent said.

"Women are not perfect. Men are not perfect. Everyone has the potential to be evil, everyone, regardless of sex," Vincent continued.

"Thats not true, the base instinct of a woman is not to kill. Women by nature are the creators of the world, men are the destructive forces of nature. Satan is man who tempted the innocent woman to plague humanity. She does not bite the apple of her own volition, only when it is within the hand of a man. It is only through the corruption of men that women become cruel," Viera said.

If given a week with nothing else to do using his time, Vincent still would not have enough time to say the things wrong with that. It was incorrectly attributed that the devil was a devil. The devil can be anything. He is reminded of the cold brown eyes of his mother that looked upon himwith scorn and misery. She did nothing to save him. The devil is everything you want most. Knowledge, power, even something simple as freedom is the reason to kill. As if the only thing it takes to push a woman into cruelty are the scornings of a man. Oh, please, as if that could be true. The queen is not distraught. Nobody is distraught when given that much power, the death of a loved one be damned. After all, it's not like he had never encountered a female murderer. He had seen plenty and most of them were far more conniving than their male counterparts. Men were more likely murder, but women were more likely to get away with murder. Something about women being more attentive to the details made Vincent's life a lot harder when it came down to catching them. But Viera was no murderer. These girls were not killers. They were stupid and scared young women goaded into being the willing mind-slaves of a very, persuasive, hateful goddess.

"Who told you this?" Vincent asked.

"My goddess," Viera said.

"I want to speak with her. Bring her right here,"Vincent said.

"She does not leave the altar," Viera said.

"You both realize that are under a formal investigation with scotland yard, correct? This isn't some kind of game that I'm playing."

"I understand that but we have rules here," Viera said.

"Fine," Vincent said, standing up. "Lets go to the altar so I may speak with the goddess."

"Men are not allowed to look upon her," Viera said.

"I will keep my back turned when facing Medusa," Vincent replied. He was being more than a little discourteous by comparing her goddess to Medusa, but it didn't bother him. What bothered him was that they were just replacing one harmful ideology for another.

"Men are not allowed with in the chambers of our ceremonial hallways without being anointed," Viera explained.

"Then anoint me," Vincent said. Viera had the look of sunshine and daisies in her eyes. She gasped as though she had received the biggest present under the tree on christmas morning.

"You'd really do that?!" she exclaimed.

"I will do anything to help this case," Vincent said.

"Eee~! I'm so excited!" Viera squeed. She made a literal squeak sound. This was not drugs. This was not fake. This was genuine happiness that radiated from her. "We'll have parade for you!"

"Look Vincent, it's what you've always wanted," Diederich said.

"So many dreams are coming true today!" Viera cheered. She leaped over her desk, knocking a pile of papers onto the wooden floor. She wrapped an arm over Vincent's shoulder. Diederich covered his mouth as he laughed at Vincent.

"Don't worry, handsome, you'll be in the parade too!"

"Oh no," Diederich said. He didn't find this situation all that funny once it meant that he had to take part in it. "No no no no. No parade. Not for me. I'm more of a spectator when it comes to parades."

"Nonsense, the festivities are always commenced with a parade, followed by the ceremony, you're both the chosen ones," Viera said. Vincent wasn't exactly sure what she meant by 'chosen ones'. How could they be 'chosen' by a group of people who had never seen them before?

"I don't think so, I am very much not chosen, I'm not very chosey at all, I'm afraid."

"Come on Dee, where is your celebratory spirit?" Vincent asked. The answer was simply that Diederich was born without one.

"Besides, it's not optional! All male visitors must be anointed before they can approach our goddess," Viera said. Perfect. Now Diederich had to share in Vincent's misery. He wouldn't be enduring this parade of estrogen and flowers alone.

"Parade time," Vincent said, wrapping his arm around Diederich's shoulder. He was smiling wide in the most sarcastic fashion he could manage. Viera didn't get it, her smile was genuine. Diederich just looked uncomfortable. He couldn't even fake a smile.

 


	38. That's Not What You Said Last Night

Viera led them to a room, with a crowd of girls following them in a gaggle, hovering ten feet behind them. The building was yet another beautiful example of architecture. There was another long hallway, decorated with paintings and flowers, and a room which Viera opened. In the center of the room was a massive, white marble tub. it was really more like a small heated pool, or a massive steampunk hot tub. It really put the steam in steampunk. Enough room for at least a dozen people to sit peacefully. A few girls were already filling the tub with hot water. One of them had a kit of various things with her. What appeared to be a collection of various liquids, which bubbled and foamed and turned the water an opaque, pale pink. It smelled faintly of roses and lavender. She looked like a mad scientist, or well, made aromatherapist.   
  
Soap was poured into the bath, giving the massive tub a top layer of bubbles. The tops of the soap bubbles glistened with an opalescent sheen. One of the girl had a wooden bucket, filled with picked roses, and tossed handfuls and handfuls of red, white and pink roses into the tub. If Frances were here, she would have considered it to be a day spa. Honestly, most women probably would have loved to have been invited to a nice luxurious bath like this. To these two young men, it was considered estrogen overload land, maybe Vincent was wrong in giving his younger sister the boot. She really would have been better for a place like this, or hell, even Alexis would have been more suited to this place. Vincent never really thought of himself of a really manly man, given that he preferred to be pampered and live the high life and hated the idea of ‘roughing it’ in the outdoors like a commoner. But this was really pushing it. Viera shuffled over to the two girls preparing the bath. She whispered to them and Vincent could only hear a small bit of the conversation.”There they are,” Viera said.  
  
"Not bad looking, the goddess will love them," the other replied, covering her mouth when she giggled. She looked at the two young men, then looked at the white floor. Like many of the other girls, she was clearly made incredibly uncomfortable by the male presence.  
  
"We will begin the ceremony by disrobing you and then you will soak in waters and perfumes blessed by our goddesses loving acolytes," Viera explained. There came the breaking factor. Not the flowers, which were already more than enough, but the disrobing. Vincent knew that the next hardest thing to do in this very situation was to convince Diederich that yes, he really had to undress. Like, now, at this very second. Or else. Something. Vincent wasn’t sure what they would do to them. Maybe the girls would toss them into a rose bush. They’d be plucking thorns out of their buns for weeks.   
  
"Sure thing," Vincent replied. He really had no problem at all with people seeing him nude, even if his body really wasn’t particularly attractive. Perhaps that is why he had no problem, it wasn’t like he was showing them anything particularly scintillating. Just a bunch of scars from cuts and bullet wounds and anything else that had gotten a hold of him.   
  
"No," Diederich insisted from the start. This was really just typical him. Vincent jabbed him with his elbow in the ribs.  
  
"I will-" Vincent  
  
"The ritual-" Viera tried to say, but Diederich was being rude. He always got rude when he was embarrassed. Then again, most nobility would give the same ardent refusal to undress, but Vincent wasn’t exactly well acquainted with shame. Shame was a perfect stranger to him.   
  
"No," he said again. This time there was an intonation that the statement ended with, ‘way in hell’. This was really exactly what Vincent expected. Alright he never expected that a crowd of religious fanatics would be asking them to undress in front of them, but Diederich’s refusal was expected. It was really quite silly, because with a job like this, it was important to expect the unexpected, and to let go of little things. Little things like not wanting a bunch of sex-deprived, strange women to stare at your dick. Alright, a not so little thing, in size and in quantity, but the point remained. If he couldn’t be expected to have the fortitude to undress himself, then how could he be expected to have the guts to actually kill another person, as per the job description?  
  
"Diederich if you don’t disrobe yourself right now, I will rip the clothes off you with my teeth," Vincent threatened. Diederich’s face remained placid, but a tinge of pink showed on his face.  
  
"That sounds like a great plan," a girl muttered in the background. A few other girls giggled. Diederich’s face became redder. Vincent really couldn’t blame them, he wanted to watch Diederich disrobe as well. To mention that he did pity them just a little bit, all those girls, all of the riling hormones of adolescence, and absolutely nothing to do about them.

"You heard me, don’t make me reprimand you," Vincent told him.  
  
"I’m not your damned dog, and you would do no such thing," Diederich said. He really needed to start learning more about Vincent, because he would not hesitate to smack Diederich right here if he had to.  
  
"That’s not the lesson I taught you last night," Vincent scolded him like a disobedient puppy.  
  
"What did he teach you last night?" Viera asked.   
  
"…It’s something impolite to speak of in the company of," Vincent was going to say women, but they might, not, they definitely would, take it as an insult. "…Esteemed artists."  
  
"He taught me nothing, Captain Viera. He is simply making a crude joke."  
  
"Nobody likes a liar. Come on, we’re wasting their goddesses time," Vincent said, he untied Diederich’s tie. Diederich stiffened with the pending anxiety and over all awkwardness of this situation. The girls let out a gasp. Oh for heavens sake. Vincent rolled his eyes as Diederich stood there, looking like a deer in the headlights.  
  
"Ladies, could you please turn around?" Vincent asked. He tried to make his tone of voice sound as polite as possible. Thankfully, they listened to him and turned right around. A few sighs from the peanut gallery were heard. Diederich was staring at the backs of the women, to make sure they were not peeking or holding up mirrors. Vincent unbuttoned his coat, folded it and placed it on the table. He then took off Diederich’s vest, setting it aside. Diederich stared down at him. Vincent then moved onto the shirt, where he popped each of the button out agonizingly slowly, staring into Diederich’s eyes the entire time, a grin plastered on his face. Vincent got his face close to Diederich’s and whispered into his ear. Vincent said something that was so ungentlemanly the profane words, even in ink, could not even touch the surface of his journals. But rest assured, whomever is reading this, the words Vincent uttered were downright depraved, would make even the most shameless person blush, and turned Diederich a shade of red normally reserved for apples. Vincent patted his cheek gently. Diederich was stunned into a stupor as Vincent knelt down, raking his nails down Diederich’s torso. Vincent unbuttoned his pants and removed his shows, as Diederich stood there still.  
  
"Get in the damn bath," Vincent said. Diederich stood there. Vincent pushed him into the massive tub. He made a large splash in the pale pink water. The girls turned around, to see a soaked and pissed off Diederich. They did not look particularly pleased with Vincent’s actions. But hey, it was the only way that his stubborn ass was getting into that tub.  
  
"Sorry, he’s a bit obstinate," Vincent apologized. The girls nodded in sympathy. They were trying to hide how eager they were to see him undress. He wasn’t about to make them wait.  
  
He took his clothes off slowly, unbuttoning his shirt with the grace of a burlesque dancer. Or he tried to, he was a bit clumsy, and he would’ve gotten booed off the stage if he actually was performing. He would have made a horrible dancer, but the girls probably wouldn’t have known the difference. As he placed his clothes on the table on top of Diederich’s, he turned to show his bare back side to the ladies, before slowly and teasingly gliding into the bath. That was probably the most exciting thing they’ve seen in ages, and Vincent loved to make a spectacle of himself. He wasn’t sure if Diederich was still blushing, or if he was mad that Vincent gave that view to a bunch of girls. It was great to get a rise out of his temper, anyways.  
  
"Now, we will sing a prayer, and you will soak in the ceremonial tub for one hour to detoxify you of your malignant male energies whilst we prepare for the rest of the ceremony," Viera explained. Vincent and Diederich in the tub, the water coming to their shoulders and the opaque color of the water obscuring anything that could have been seen of them.   
  
Viera handed out white candled to each girl, lighting each with a match, and then throwing the matches into the bathtub to extinguish them. To each one she said, “May the goddess be with you,” and traced over the girls head the shape of a star. The girls stood together in a line and held hands, the candles still in their grasp. This was getting really, really weird. Sure, being bedecked in flowers, made to sit in a girly bath, and rest of the induction process was pretty bizarre, but Vincent was seriously wondering who the hell wrote all of this shit down, and how broken these girls must have been to even believe in it in the first place. They were humming some tunes, all in perfect timing. They really must have had a lot of practice.

 

They chanted this refrain, three times. In unison, and actually, their harmony was not unpleasant to listen to even though the lyrics were cheesy and trite. Viera stood and closed her eyes, humming as the girls chanted, keeping them to the tune. She looked peaceful, serene even. Like she was lost in a different place. It was like seeing a monk, deep in meditation of the scripture. It seemed overly holy, overly religious, as thought she was caught in the grasp of a god. Viera was entirely lost in this delusion. It was the same that Vincent had seen from others people, but it was rare. Even most priests secretly sometimes rolled their eyes reading the bible, chanting their preposterous refrains with a hint of irony, sarcasm even. Viera looked so innocent and so believing. Vincent was going to feel bad when he hauled her ass off to prison for kidnapping. Not some fake lady running a cult, as was the situation actually, was but she treated this area as if it were as beautiful and historical as st. peters cathedral.  
  
"We will come back and say another prayer, you will leave the tub and dry off with a towel, re-dress and then you will be marched towards the ceremonial chambers of our goddess," Viera said. She seemed different than she had seemed before. it was as if she was glowing. Each girl pinched the wick of their candle, it stained their finger tips a black color. They drew an x on their forehead with the black charcoal residue left on their fingertips, before the leaving the room in a single file line formation, following behind Viera like little baby ducks following the mother duck.  
  
"Well, this has been a lot weirder than I thought it would be," Vincent said. He had expected a simple open-and shut human trafficking case. Instead, everyone was here willingly, and not only that, they seemed pretty fucking happy. This was going to be a weird thing to explain.   
  
"Just shut up, you pervert," Diederich told him.  
  
"Aw, what did I say to upset the puppy?"  
  
"You know what you said."  
  
"Don’t act like you wouldn’t want it. It’s pretty romantic though, isn’t it?" Vincent asked. He played around with a whole rose flower that was floating on the surface of the pink water. It smelled sweet and floral and had a thicker quality to it than normal water. Vincent could already feel his skin getting softer. He really wanted to know what they put in here so he could get some of his this for his bathroom at home before dissolving their little club.  
  
"There is nothing romantic is what you say. Only perversion,” Diederich told him. He scooted over to the corner of the tub and stood there, looking uncomfortable and soaking in. They were going to come home smelling like ladies perfume. Rachel was going to mock them for it. Vincent could hear her already. ‘wow Vin, you smell like women, but I didn’t think you two boys were that type’.  
  
"We have a whole hour in here, you know,” Vincent said. He waggled his eyebrows.   
  
"Put your hands where I can see them,” Diederich commanded him. Vincent put his hands above the water but moved closer to him.   
  
"Say what you want about me for this, but my skin feels really soft. I’m asking Viera what they put in the water. Rachel would love this.”

“I am never going to get the smell of fresh cut flowers off of my skin,” Diederich said.   
  
Vincent had to say that even though he didn’t like baths, this was not terrible. Actually, this was by far the most enjoyable of his tasks so far. Sure, it was weird and creepy, and uncomfortable, and he was sure this entire plan was probably going to go up in smoke when he had to break it to all the girls that they had to return to real life. But for this one hours, he was going to sit here and be lazy and warm in this ridiculous, girlish bath tub with his increasingly more uncomfortable partner in detective business and other questionably legal things. 


	39. That Thing You've Always Wanted

The girls gathered the parade. They had made some large white crosses, made from lilies, roses and white morning glory attached to a cross frame. They had marched into the room. Vincent and Diederich were still standing in the bath. Viera was always the leader, bright and beaming. She was truly a fantastic leader, the girls followed her without a second thought, without hesitation. Now only if Vincent could inspire that same kind of obedience into Diederich. Viera was beaming and happy as usual. She did not bark orders, they just followed her. It was amazing. Truly, Vincent wanted to know what she was doing to make that happen.

“Please get out of the tub and dress yourselves,” Viera said. The girls were standing behind her. Diederich was turning a shade pinker than the water.   
  
“He still doesn’t want anyone to see him naked,” Vincent said, pointing to Diederich.   
  
“Then why is it okay for you to see him naked?” Viera asked.

“Because a dog can’t object to anything its master would like.”

“Shut up!”

“Why do you call him your dog? Is it some weird sexual thing?” Viera asked them.

“It is not!”

“It is nothing sexual,” Vincent said. Then he winked at Viera and she giggled. She waved and the girls behind her left the room. Leaving the current population of the room to Vincent, Viera, and a very angry man who was the color of a tomato.

“So help me Vincent I will kill you.”

“That’s not what you said last night.”

“We are not doing that joke again!”

“If there isn’t anything to joke about, then why are you turning red?” Viera asked. She was as perceptive as she was seemingly insane. If she did not elect herself to be the pirate captain without a ship slash cult administrator, then she have made a good psychoanalyst.   
  
“I can’t bring him anywhere,” Vincent sighed.  
  
“Bring me anywhere? You’re the one with the perverted mind!”

Viera held out a pile of white towels. Vincent crawled out of the tub and took them. Viera turned around. “It’s okay, I feel the same way about Nicole. Sometimes she gets so flustered about the things I say in the morning sermon!” Viera said. She made a cute hand gesture, like she did with most of her statements. The two detectives were getting dressed. Vincent continued to ask her questions even as he was getting dressed.

“Morning sermon?” Vincent asked.

“Yes. Every morning. The goddess likes to sleep in, so I do the morning sermons. Every morning I bring in a daily prayer, the to do lists and other things~!” Viera cheered.

“When do you sleep?” Vincent asked.   
  
“Like, hardly ever,” Viera said.

The detectives were dressed again. Vincent triple checked his pockets, all of his concealed weapons were in their proper places. He didn’t need them, but he didn’t want any of the girls to sneak a peek at a pistol or a knife. They might run away again, and then he’d have to spend all weekend trying to get them back. He really didn’t want to have to juggle a (wo)man hunt and the preparations for his wedding, which Rachel insisted he be present for in their entirety. This entire case was becoming a mess. He was going to have to call for back up in order to get all of the girls back home, and he was sure at least a couple of them were going to put up a fight. Vincent sighed. He really wished that he would have stocked up on some kind of gun that could tranquilize them. He really didn’t want to injure any of the girls. They seemed innocent enough. They were just disillusioned young ladies. They didn’t deserve to be punished, even though Vincent knew that they would perceive being forced to rejoin polite society as some sort of punishment.

Yet, thankfully, none of them were likely to go to jail. Except Nicole Victoria and Viera, who were looking at charges for kidnapping. Granted, as nice as Viera was, she was also off her rocker for actually helping an even crazier girl start up some kind of cult compound. So instead of going to jail, it was likely those two were going to the asylum. If they were lucky, they’d get out, eventually, or they’d end up dead. It was hard to tell with those sorts of places. It was unpleasant to think about, but Viera and Nicole were breaking tons of laws. A few on kidnapping, and a few more, because Vincent was pretty sure that they did not get a permit to build these buildings out here like this. The buildings looked newer, but at the same time, he had to wonder, if they did not let men around here, then who built these buildings? Surely a bunch of girls weren’t going to be able to build something like this.

“Are you feeling well?” Diederich whispered to him. Vincent realized that he had gotten lost in thought and was staring at the floor.  
  
“I’m just thinking about something,” Vincent explained.

“You look awfully sad, you know,” Viera told him. Vincent looked at her.

“Sorry, it’s just, a lot of people around here have a similar expression,” Viera said. Vincent looked at her. She was very bizarre. She probably wouldn’t do well in the asylum.

When Vincent imagined a Vincent Phantomhive parade, he imagined something much different. In his mind, a proper parade featuring his glorious visage would involve a large ship replica, painted black and decorated with skeletons, and perhaps some black candles and chains. There would be banners of torn, tattered fabric trailing behind like the tails of burned ghosts. There would be a faint smell of smoke in the air. This was… nothing like that. Unfortunately, he doubted that there would ever be a place in which he would get the parade he wanted. Surely, if he tried it, those spectating it would be shocked by the grim visages that matched how he really felt in the inside. There might even be a riot. It would be a disaster. Hundreds of people would die. What an atrocity that would be. But Vincent thought it would have been beautiful regardless. That’s probably why nobody was ever going to let him have a parade.

“This is…” Diederich started, then sighed. He could not finish the sentence. Vincent held his hand tightly and looked at him.

“It’s okay, Dee, it’s flowers, you can survive this,” Vincent said sarcastically, but kept his face straight. Diederich could only glower in reply.

The parade was ridiculous. The young women were bedecked in loose dresses, and were likely to not have worn corsets at all. It was a parade of pale pinks, white, creams, lavenders, blues, and even some mint greens. This was so overpoweringly girly that Vincent could not even imagine Rachel’s adorable little sister taking refuge here. They were holding candles, which made sense as it was starting to crawl into the afternoon hours. They had spent an entire day here. And the next day, Vincent knew hat he was going to spend it all over again while he watched Rachel and Angelina deliberate over lace samples and floral table centerpieces. Vincent would die happily if he never saw another rose again in his life, and to think he actually used to like them. Not anymore. He was all rosed out. He’d go outside and kick down the fucking rose bushes that he paid a lot money for. Diederich did not look any less displeased, but he always looked always displeased. It was hard to tell when he was actually angry, or when he was just putting it on, but this time it was very obvious. He was actually really unhappy. It wasn’t that fake unhappiness he put on when he was to embarrassed to admit that he had feelings.

They were led inside of the church, and the doors were closed behind them. It was then that they reached the atrium of the situation. A situation which they did not know about, and did not expect in the slightest. It would have been a beautiful church had it not been so horrifying. The room had a dull roar of girls softly speaking to one another under their breaths, and the thud, thud, thud of blood dripping into white, porcelain, tubs decorated with gilded flourishes and hanging vines of white roses. The floor was white marble, the carpet was blood red, and there was a large gathering of pews in rows adjacent to an aisle towards central altar, on which stood a massive throne for a young woman with a veil. They had gone into this situation expecting human trafficking, or at least, the sale of parts of the young ladies. Then, they had expected some kind of sweatshop. Then, once the kidnapping aspect was inspected and proved to be false, they then focused on the idea of this being some kind of cult. The exact kind of cult, well, they weren’t expecting this. Maybe some stupid ceremony but certainly not the grand scale of murder that was going on in here. Hundreds of men were slain at the altar of this ‘goddess’ For what reason, well, no reason could even hope to justify the sickness that took place in this unholy venue.

The bodies were laid out as carelessly as if they were small petals. There were hundreds. Some were all rotting meat, some looked fresh, some were nothing but bone bleached white from the passage of time. Some bones were yellow and stained with bits of clinging meat. He was sure that had there not have been a garden’s worth of flowers hanging everywhere, the entire church would have smelled heavily of putrid, rotting meat. Instead, it was mostly a floral scent with the under tone of meat and murder. There were pieces here and there. They were hacked into bits, the carpet at the top of the altar was stained a permanent rust color and was likely to be as hard as a rock. They were artfully laid out like sacrifices on the altar of a fetid blood god. Vincent could only think of the aztec blood sacrifices. He thought of priests cutting out the hearts of the victims, the king taking a bite of the still beating organ to inherit the power of their enemies.   
  
And this was certainly no mistake upon the part of Viera, who had welcomed them so warmly. This was no mistake of any girl whom Vincent had spoken to in private. No. No. They had all known about this. They knew exactly what they were doing was murder. This was their religion, and they had willingly, pleasantly led the two detectives to their demise. Every petal was a bit of deceit to disarm them, to think well, they’re just girls, what could they really be capable of? Well the answer was worse than what could be expected. Someone had to build those cages, make the tubs, and fashion the stained glass windows. This was not a crime of passion, it was a crime of meticulous organization and years of effort. What they were searching for wasn’t even close to the truth of what they would actually be finding there.


	40. Justice is a Lie

“Who are all these men,” Vincent asked. He did not bow before Nicole, because if she were a god, which he doubted highly, she wasn’t a god that deserved reverence. She was of average stature as she sat on her massive, gold painted throne. She wore all white, loose clothes decorated with yards of soft embroidered lace. Over her face, she wore a white veil which obscured most of her features, a garland of red roses and thorns around her head. Her hands were bedecked with rings decorated with massive, red rubies fit for bloody Mary.  

“Whoever walks in,” Nicole replied. Vincent looked to Viera, who did not seem to protest this answer. Nicole spoke with a refined, upperclass english accent. She didn’t speak like anyone who had been raised by werewolves and witches in Germany.  He wondered if her parents were looking for, or if they had been glad to just let her be. Vincent figured anyone who would make worship them like a profane blood god, would have parents hat would weep happy tears upon their leaving. If Vincent had a mass murderer for a child, he’d probably be glad they were out of the house.

“Whoever walks in, indeed.” Of course Viera would open the gates for them so pleasantly. After all, what is a goddess without her blood sacrifice?  
  
“How many,” he asked. Nicole at first looked angry that Vincent was being short with her, and then she realized that she has but no choice to answer him in front of acolytes.

“It doesn’t matter,” Nicole replied.

This of course, this enraged Vincent, because of course it does matter. Did the queen know about this part of the case? Did she even care to connect the two? No. Not the queen, of course, because if she gave even a fraction of a damn about a few hundred men, mostly laborers, dying, she would have sent him here for that instead. No, these men did not go missing, they simply did not show up to work one day. Nobody really cared if a few hundred poor people went missing. Nobody cared to come forward have some sort of investigation. The lower class loses hundreds of lives every day, and who would take notice? A few dozen rich girls go awry and suddenly, the world is fucking over. That’s it, call in the queen’s watchdog, things have gotten serious! But a poor delivery man, just here to deliver art supplies, and he disappears? Fuck him.   
  
“How could it not matter?” Vincent asked her. Innocent men, gone. Their families never notified, if they had them. Their friends went unrecognized. Nobody really seemed to give much a of damn about anything, really. Not unless the victims were of ‘social standing’. There were no memorials or funerals for them. Nobody notable stayed up late at night, hoping, praying they would come back, and and such, the watchdog never came in.   
  
“They’re only paint, they’re only purpose is art therapy,” Nicole said. A vessel for her to undertake, her artistic therapy. Vincent wanted to say, ‘well, isn’t a woman only a vessel for a man’s seed’, but he didn’t because he needed to buy time for an escape plan. He doesn’t have enough bullets to gun down all these girls and he can’t just ask, ‘hey, Dee, how many bullets do you have on you?’

“You don’t have a religion, you have a crime spree,” Vincent told her.   
  
“Well of course a man”, she said, emphasis on man, as though right and wrong changed by gender.

“Would not understand the pure and righteous path that we undertake every day. He is but a simpleton, born of rock, and iron, forged to be cruel. He is so used to degrading women that he has no agency to understand our path. He thinks all women are objects so when we act differently, the poor man is too dumb to handle it mentally. We should cleanse him. How many men kill women? Subject them to abuse, to the death of labor pains. So if a few go missing, well, what is the harm. It is only leveling the playing field.”  
  
“You can’t agree with this,” Diederich whispered to Viera. He was not as pessimistic as Vincent to assume that Viera didn’t still have a spark of kindness left in her. She only looked at them and frowned. The bubbly exterior she had shown them before was clearly the extent of what kindness was left in her. She then walked forward, towards her goddess, got down on her knees, and rested her head against Nicole’s feet.  Nicole raised her hand and Viera stood. Nicole whispered something in her ear.

“The two will stand trial,” Viera said.   
  
“Come on Dee, I knew we were always going to be put to death together anyways,” Vincent said with a truly obnoxious smirk on his face. Diederich looked so pissed off that Vincent was half sure that he was going to be the executioner.

“You are not funny,” he growled. 

Viera approached them and grabbed them by the arms. She had a lot of upper arm strength for such a small thing. They both followed her quietly. They weren’t putting up a fight when they were outnumbered like this. She dragged them down the aisle, closer and closer to Nicole. Vincent could hear the rug beneath his shoes squeak as he squished the blood soaked carpet. The girls who were watching were sitting at their pews, watching them as mindlessly as someone would watch television. This was just every day to them, wasn’t it. Nothing unusual to see here. Just your daily dose of murder. Even Vincent wasn’t that desensitized to blood and gore. “Go with it,” Vincent whispered. Diederich sighed and said nothing. Vincent wasn’t sure if this was a sign that he trusted him, or a sign that he had his own plan.

“The court proceedings will begin,” Nicole said. At least they were getting a trial.

Viera pulled up a bench for them. It had blood on it, and now so did her hands. She seemed rather serene for someone ho was helping a murderer. Vincent wiped the blood off of the bench with his white silk handkerchief, which sadly, he would now have to burn.  He and Diederich sat at the bench, off to the side from the throne. Nicole would be looking them directly in the eye. She lifted up the gauzy white veil and put it back. Her eyes were lined with poorly lines and messy eye makeup. Her lips were dripping red from her chewing up her own lips, her skin was ashy and pale and covered with pasty foundation that made her look older than she actually was. Her brown hair was cut short with straight bangs. She had icy, dead eyes.

“Who is the judge?” Vincent asked.   
  
“I am.”  
  
“Where is the jury?”  
  
“I am the jury,” Nicole said. Her tone was snippity. It was really no wonder why she had to leave normal society. Her manners were truly monstrous.

“Let me guess, Viera is the executioner?”  
  
“That is correct,” Nicole said.

“Well aren’t you just a wonderful multi-tasker?” Vincent asked.

As Nicole sat there, Viera was lighting candles in various candelabras. She set them around Nicole. It made the gold on the throne shine in the light. The shadows cast on Nicole’s face made her look like someone who would easily intimidate a young girl. She looked serious, but fake. Any emotion she showed was cracked like the mask-thick layer of foundation she wore. The faint yellow glow of the candles combined with the light through the red stained glass gave the room a warm glow. Vincent and Diederich sat there quietly while Viera prepared the decorations. This was just another layer to the lies. It was the pretty, shiny veneer of flower and candles and lace veils hat covered the hideous corpses and the hideous woman underneath the veil.

“Each of the candles these girls hold is a memorial for our sisters. Those who have died from the abuse of their husbands. Those who have died of abortion. Those who have died of suicide. There will be never be enough blood to repay this massive debt,” Viera said. Some of the girls are crying. For their fallen sisters. Vincent really couldn’t join them to mourn the death of his mother. The bitch had it coming. Diederich was rather unmoved by the entire display, he seemed really more bothered by it on a moral level. It was impossible for him to hide his expression of disgust at this point.

“Have you any testimony to defend yourselves?” Nicole asked. She was going to kill them. This was just ceremony to build up the anticipation and reaffirm her status as head-bitch.

“I have nothing to say,” Diederich said.   
  
Vincent stood up and faced up, his ice colored eyes met Nicole’s. “You say that you are protecting those from the corruption of male led society, but when you fail to understand, is that society makes a slave of us all. The poor men you murder are just as oppressed by the queen’s rule as you are!”  
  
“Heretic!” Nicole shouts. The girls murmured a bit and fell silent, as though their goddess had screamed out a dreadful, dreadful curse. Vincent stood there defiant and proud. He was directly challenging her, because he could.   
  
“Oh, you’re calling me a heretic now? Am I but a witch to you? You may as well burn me at the stake. Goodness knows, I’m too hot for you, anyways,” he mocked her. Diederich moved next to him. The girls were talking among themselves. While Vincent watched Nicole, Diederich was watching the girls.

“Vincent will you please shut your fucking sarcastic damn mouth for five fucking minutes before you get the both of us murdered.”

“We’re in a church, so watch your fucking language,” Vincent said. For that, Diederich slapped him.  

“So help me I will torment you with the devil in hell if we die here!” Diederich yelled at him.  So, he was extra, extra serious. Vincent still wasn’t taking this world situation seriously. He was being put on trial by a lunatic with no concept of actual justice. For what? Being a sarcastic to a murderer? Because he did that all the time to his sister and she was way scarier than Nicole.

“Are you two done? Seriously, it’s kind of annoying,” Viera said. She was being impatient but she was still smiling.   
  
“I think we should cut out his tongue,” Nicole said calmly. She glared at Vincent.

“Could you get more creative with that? Because if I were going to give myself an ironic punishment, I can think of way more interesting ways to do it,” Vincent complained.

“You want creative? Alright. You there, brunette. I’m going to cut out your tongue with a heated knife and feed it to him. Don’t worry though, the heat will seal up the wound so you’ll live to watch!”

“With my last words, I’m cordially inviting Vincent Phantomhive to go to hell,” Diederich said.

“With my last words, I’ll see you there, honey.”

“Will you two stop it!” Nicole screeched.  “You are undermining my authority! Shut up you disgraceful heretics! Shut up right now!”

“Yeah, no,” Vincent said. He pulled out his pistol and aimed it at her head. They wanted blood sacrifices just like vampires, didn’t they? If they craved blood like vampires and worked in a hive like vampires, then surely, if Vincent killed the queen, the rest of them would cease to exist.

“I really only stuck around your stupid delusions long enough for you to get closer to me so I would have a better shot.”  
  
“Don’t!” Viera shouted. She went to lunge for Vincent, but instead, tripped and knocked over a candelabra. She fell to the floor and the candles fell on top of Nicole’s lap.

Clearly, whatever Nicole’s dress was made of was not fire proof. She went up in flames like a pile of bone dry leaves in the california desert. Diederich pulled Vincent back and they watched as the girls tried to extinguish their goddess. She was screaming loud enough to fill an entire opera house. The girls patted at her.  She burned faster than any of them could put her out.  They piled their bodies on top of her, hugging so close they hoped it would suffocate the fire. It did not. Instead, their dresses also caught on fire. Nicole smelled like burning silk and hair and rose petals.  Lace and silk are flammable. Flowers are flammable.  Nicole, from the mass, her hand reached out, her arm extended towards Viera. Viera looked horrified and shocked as Nicole’s blackened skin fell from the bone. She took a step back and looked at the two detectives. Her eyes were full of tears. She was scared and she didn’t know what to do, so she ran. She unlocked the doors in seconds as the flame spread up the walls and to the ceiling. The entire church was going up in flames, along with the evidence.

Vincent looked at the carnage, and there was no hope. Perhaps he could send in for someone to put out the blaze, later on. He wouldn’t even shoot the girls to put them out of misery. He wasn’t about to grant any of them a free pass from the hell they had made for themselves. He and Diederich followed Viera out of the church. As they ran out of the building, beam from the ceiling fell down with a crash. The pile of girls were still writhing in pain and screaming, becoming a smoldering mass of death. They died with their goddess. All of them except the most devoted. Viera was sitting in the courtyard. They could all smell smoke. It was not safe to stay. Viera had her head rested on her knees. She sobbed loudly like an injured calf, letting out high pitched whines and cries.   
  
“You have ruined everything,” Viera sobbed. This was not even Viera, really. Her dress was stained with grass, her boots scuffed with ash, her exuberant expression had been replaced with despair. She was grieving. The death of her goddess, the death of her friends, the death of the life she once had. Anything she had ever, in this world, truly owned and had been proud of, was now billows of smoke.

“Don’t even bother fighting,” Diederich warned her. Viera continued to cry. She clearly wasn’t going to fight anyone. She took her keys and threw them at their feet.

“All I wanted was a place where I belonged,” Viera cried. She looked up at Vincent.   
  
“We’re bringing you to the police now,”Vincent said.

“I have no fight or hope left in me,” Viera said, and she let herself be escorted into the carriage.

Vincent and Diederich watched her carefully for the duration of the trip but all she did was stare at her lap with sad brown eyes and cry. The carriage went past the main section, where they would have normally taken her. Instead they went to the port. The air smelled like more smoke and rancid seas water and far too many people who had clearly not taken a bath today, or any day, for that matter. There was a ticketing station within view. Ships were lined up by the port and bustling families were shouting and getting ready for their long journeys.  The carriage stopped. Viera lifted her head and looked out of the window, her face looked shocked.  
  
“Alright, get out of the carriage,” Vincent said. He left the carriage first and Viera followed him, with Diederich being the last one out. Diederich looked confused but he helped Vincent escort Viera out of the carriage. The three of them looked like they were doing something illegal. Which they were, but they looked more like they were soliciting a working girl and less like they were in charge of taking care of a murderer.

“Why are we here?” she asked.  
  
“Well, as far as I know, Viera died in that fire,” Vincent told her. Vincent led her to the ticketing booth where there was a long line. Two bewildered people were now following him. On the outside, he looked like he had control of the situation but on the inside he felt like he was falling apart. It took everything in Vincent’s power to keep his composure.

“Once Nicole knew that she had been caught selling girls that she brainwashed, she set herself on fire. In panic, the girls, all of them tried to put her out. I ran for the hills. I don’t know who you are,” he said this as he placed a sizable amount of cash in her hands. Surely more than Viera had ever seen before in her life. He wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing or not. Rather, he was mote entirely sure as to what right or wrong meant any more. He was also unsure as to whether or not he cared.

“Leave this country and never come back,” Vincent said. Viera nodded quickly and tried to blot her eyes using the hem of her soiled dress. She took the money from him.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Her tone still sounded broken, her voice was hoarse. Vincent had to wonder what her next adventure would be.  
  
“I don’t understand why you would let her free,” Diederich told him.  Vincent watched as Viera approached the man who was selling tickets at the booth. The man at the booth looked at her like she was a whack job, and she really did look like one. Viera pointed up at the listings. Vincent wasn’t so sure which one but all of the ones on that board were headed towards america. She ran over to the line where she was waiting to the board the ship. Everyone else was prepared for a long trip. She had nothing with her save for her ruined clothes, a first class ticket, and enough money to get through several years of her life.

“I’ve seen too many girls die today, I would like to see at least one of them live,” Vincent sighed.  Diederich still looked puzzled. Vincent took the cigarette case out of his pocket and lit one up. He needed it.

“Hold on, you have something in your hair,” Vincent said. He rustled Diederich’s hair and pulled out a small, pale purple petal. He tossed it in the water as Viera’s boat left the harbor.


	41. I Swear I Don't Have A Gun

“WhatI need after this is a long smoke and a longer nap,” Vincent said, with a sigh. Diederich didn’t say anything, he just went back into his house. His body language was rather impassive. Go away meant come closer, or sometimes it meant to back the fuck off before I bite you. It was hard to tell when no really meant no or if no was some kind of cover for a desire he wasn’t willing to speak of directly. He did not speak in invitation, so much that he spoke in a lack of power behind his aggression. In situations like this, it was tiring at its best and infuriating at it very worst. Vincent was too tired mentally to read between the lines and hold the metaphorical uv light over the invisible ink Dee wrote his private thoughts in.

It looked so nice but he was not invited in. Diederich didn’t look like he was in the mood to give Vincent a tour and Vincent was in no condition to be given a tour, anyways. So he headed home, back to his nice manor. It was already dark and past dinner when he arrived but he just wasn’t feeling hungry. His stomach was empty but his mind was full of horrid images. Of all those men being slayed. Their bodies scattered across the ground, they were just tossed aside like it meant nothing. They looked like meat. Vincent wasn’t so sure if he would be able to look at meat again for a while. He contemplated a glass of wine, something to calm his nerves, but the red color just reminded him of blood. He could settle for some opium, which usually killed off his appetite anyways.

Rachel was busy reading a book about poisons in the library. Vincent sat down across the table from her without saying anything. He wanted a smoke but he knew that Rachel didn’t care for him to smoke around her most of the time. Rachel stared at him for a while. Vincent knew that she was looking at him out of concern for his wellbeing. How disheveled his clothes must have looked, the spots of blood that ruined his coat, the smell of ashes and ladies perfume. It was a strange mismatch that would make most people deeply suspicious of his whereabouts. Rachel, unlike most women, wasn’t immediately going to run about and assume he spent the day in a brothel. After all, she knew he wasn’t that type of guy, and that simple prostitution and scandal wasn’t really dark or scandalous to be an activity Vincent would willingly participate in. Anything Vincent did had to be much, much darker.

“You look like you need someone to talk to,” Rachel said.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Vincent said. This was really his way of saying that even though he didn’t want to talk about it,   
  
“Oh come on, I know that look. You look like you took a casual stroll through hell,” Rachel said. She knew what expression he was wearing when he really needed someone to talk with. Most people couldn’t pick it up because he tried hard to hide it, that he wasn’t even sure what it felt like to express emotions normally. Yet Rachel knew from the slightest tone and twitch what had happened.

“Hell is a paltry nothing, compared to what I saw,” Vincent said. He didn’t mean for his tone to sound as grim as it did. His mask kept slipping whenever Rachel was around, but he never really took it off in front of her. He just let her peek in between the cracks in his mind, to take a quick little peek at the virulent madness that slithered around in his skull.

“Which was?”

“A cult, mass murder, possibly some kind of genocidal intent. There was also a large fire. The yard got called in,” Vincent said. What he really meant, is that it turned out to be so much of a clusterfuck that he couldn’t handle it on his own. At least with Scotland yard working on it, he wouldn’t have to undertake the mind-numbing time sink of identifying all of the bodies and sending them off in the right boxes to the right families. Some other poor soul could get that done. Vincent was done. he had mentally checked out of this case and compartmentalized it in his memory under the ‘do not reopen’ category.

“I also let the main suspect go,” Vincent said.

“You did what?” Rachel asked. She looked at Vincent with wide blue eyes.

“Look, Rachel, it was complicated.”

“You let a murderer go free?” Emphasis on murderer. It served to remind Vincent who the true murderer was here. After all, killing was killing. Viera killed for Nicole Victoria. Vincent killed for Queen Victoria. There was very little difference between them.

“Not every killer is a terrible person. I’ve killed people and I’m not entirely beyond redemption, don’t you think?” Vincent asked. It was easy enough to say that he let Viera go because he thought that she had looked genuinely remorseful. It was easy enough to say that he let Viera go because he didn’t think that a death sentence of life being tortured in a mental asylum was a fair punishment. It was easy to say that she was just naive and young. It was not easy to say that he let Viera go because he saw himself in her. Vincent felt like maybe if he let Viera go free he would be letting that part of himself that felt lied to by society go free as well. He still felt as caged in as he did before. Vincent thought he would feel better knowing that he had done something decent for once in his life, but there was no improvement in how he felt, maybe he was even more miserable then he was before.

“I’m honestly not so sure,” Rachel said. At least she was honest about it. He wasn’t sure of it either but he didn’t want to voice his confusion. Vincent liked to think that he could be redeemed, but he had no idea how the hell he’d get that done. There was a whole lot of redemption needed for a guy like him, and he wasn’t so sure that anything he could do would be able to undo all of the things that had already happened. He was trying to convince himself that he wasn’t beyond help when he knew it to be a lie.

“That’s a not a nice thing to tell your soon to be husband.”

“Are you truly so bothered by this topic that you’re going to bring up the wedding?”

“You hate planning the wedding,” Rachel said.

“I also hate this stupid case,” Vincent told her, “But I’m not sure if I could hate Viera,” he added in wistfully.

“Who is Viera?”

“There was a cult full of girls. The cult was run by Nicole Victoria and Viera, who took in girls that hated their families and wanted to be artists. They lived out in some fancy buildings. I was called in to take the girls home because their families wanted them back. Dee and I went looking around the place, interviewed many of the girls and asked them if we could speak for Nicole, whom they were all worshiping as some weird god figure. They seemed really happy at first, and it looked like they weren’t taken by force. We had to be stuck in some tub full of perfume in order for us to speak with Nicole, and we were also given a parade.

We assumed they were just weirdos worshiping a god. Instead, there were a few hundred dead men who were being killed by them. I’m guessing they would call in delivery people and carpenters to do work there and then kill them off in the church. There were bodies everywhere, all stuck into tubs or hanging from the ceiling in cages. The entire church was covered in blood. The main leader freaked out when she found out she caught, tried to set us on fire, then I shot her in the head, the fire spread, and nearly everyone was killed. Except Viera, who I was going to bring to the yard but instead I dropped her ass off by the docks and told her to get out of England and never come back.”  
  
“So I was thinking that while white and red roses are most traditional, that we should really be going for a pale pink roses accented by white poppies for the center pieces,” Rachel said. She reached below the table and pulled out a massive, portfolio sized folder of ideas for the wedding.

“I’m really sick of flowers. I could go a thousand years without seeing another one.”

“But look on the positive side of things, you smell so lovely!”

“Next time we investigate a cult, I’ll send you in to deal with them, how about that?” Vincent asked. In retrospect, he really did wish that he had brought Rachel alone for the ride. She probably would have fit right in with those girls.

“No thank you, I enjoy not being set on fire.”

“I don’t care what you plan, I’m just going to agree with everything you ask for,” Vincent told her. It was about the wedding. He truly did not care. He considered it to be Rachel’s celebration. There were very few times women got to be the show stoppers. They were stuffed into corsets and paraded out by their parents until they found a man, and after that point, a woman’s place existed solely to please that man. And to preferably, keep her mouth shut and legs open. It was only well and good that Vincent give her one final hurrah to make a spectacle of her beauty before stifling it with a fancy ring and a lie.

“I want a wedding so grand that I can invite every single woman whom I hate in society and make her feel not only jealous of me, but sorry for her own life in comparison,” Rachel said.

Having a rich and beautiful husband was the ultimate status symbol. Rachel wanted to look like the perfect couple to make everyone she hated feel bad for themselves. Vincent wanted to look like the perfect couple so he wouldn’t be put to death. They both had a perfectly valid and logical agenda. They depended on each other in this marriage. One word from Rachel and he’d be out of luck, and one boot from Vincent and she would be penniless. It was fitting. After all, she would go to parties and Vincent would hear for hours later of all the ways Rachel said they deserved to die. She had her own list, that should Vincent ever run out of criminals to assassinate, could use. Maybe when he was done killing the matriarch of his country, he could kill for the matriarch of his household. Or in the very least, make all of them so jealous it led to misery.

“You have my blessing,” Vincent said. he was staring down at his hands. he really should wash them sometime soon. He could see blood under his nails and cracked in the lines of his hands. he had no idea who this blood belonged to.

“I want a massive seven layered cake with a chocolate fountain.”  
  
“You can have it.”

“In addition, I truly think that if we rented a white, glittering carriages and some white horses, it would look like a fairy tale wedding, and wouldn’t that make those bitches so jealous?” Rachel asked him.

“My bank account is at your command,” Vincent said. He was saying this automatically.  
  
“I want my dress to be of the whitest silk, but I really think we should get the lace imported from france. I think adding some silk pink roses to the bottom trim and the veil would break up the monotony. That, and I want glittering stones and sequins attached to my dress. I want to sparkle so much they could see me from the moon. In fact, I think you should match your outfit to my dress.”  
  
“Whatever you desire.”

He took some time to think about his wedding vows, which he had not yet written. Vincent wanted to find some way to write them without it being an outright lie. It felt unkind to lie to Rachel in front of everyone they knew. Then again, most men lied to their wives in their wedding vows. Most men did not care if their wives were happy, most wives considered themselves lucky if their husbands didn’t abuse them or bring home a disease. Nobody ever really married out of love, but for a desire to possess something. Men wanted to possess the body of an attractive female. Woman wanted power and security by proxy. Tons of men had affairs, it was just that most of them were not as upfront about the nature of their affairs as Vincent was. If he was really being honest with her his vows would read something like: from here on out, I’m using you as a pawn to distract people from my hidden gay lover. Also, while I promise you buy you everything my money could ever hope to purchase, just keep in mind that I will never, ever love you as much as I love-  
  
“Are you even listening to me, Vincent?!”

“Not really.”


	42. Why Do You Cry Every Time I Fuck You?

Vincent waswalking on a beach. His bare feet were pressed against warm, black sand. It was hot and humid, despite the gray, overcast sky. There were no clouds, just a clear and even tone of gray. The ocean was a placid black, it laid against the sand without movement or tide. On one side, an endless black ocean, on the other side was an endless black beach. They seemed to blend together into an infinite, empty void. He could hear snarling and the sounds of a woman singing in the distance, but he could not see anything beyond the horizon. Here, he was left alone with his dark thoughts. What the hell is wrong with my subconscious. What does the woman signal? That I hated my mother? Vincent recalls that he’s usually not aware that he’s dreaming when he’s dreaming.  Or at least he’s not thinking about dreaming when he’s dreaming. Because, that would be bizarrely meta.

He kept walking. He was wearing a button up shirt and pants, no was it or anything else. What good that was, because it was almost oppressively hot and humid. His skin was starting to feel sticky and the air felt like it had weight on his shoulders. There was no breeze. Vincent was bothered with the sand getting stuck between his toes. This was the most boring dream imaginable. He couldn’t even understand what this song was, it sounded welsh but it also sounded like no other song he had ever heard of. He wasn’t sure how he was dreaming up a song he had never heard, in a language he didn’t speak. Maybe it was because he was a crazy man? Vincent was due for another episode any week now, he was already living on borrowed time. An unusual amount of time had passed since his last out burst. It was almost like he wasn’t a violent monster after all. But that idea made less sense than anything else.

If he stood still he could a faint pulse coming from beneath the sand. Like this entire area was breathing beneath his bare feet, warm, sticky and black. The sound of singing was getting louder. Maybe he might see something interesting. Maybe he was died in his sleep from an opium overdose and this was the hell he was stuck in. Eternal isolation, eternal boredom. This would be many of the things he couldn’t stand. It felt hours had passed. Vincent wished that he could make himself wake up. He pinched his inner arm, and it did nothing to help me. 

“This is the worst,” he muttered. He wasn’t speaking loudly but his voice sounded like it echoed out in waves.

“Inhospitable host, when your blood runs black, my deed is over,” a voice echoed from the sand beneath him. Something that he could not recall, could not name or describe it. Save it’s aura of completely evil intent engulfed him. Vincent had a feeling of certain doom wash over him like a panic attack. The feeling seeped into every cell of his being. It blacked out his memory. He could only attach concepts to the things the thing before him wanted him to recall.

“Blood isn’t black,” Vincent argued. It let out a high pitched scream that was supposed to be something like a laugh. The intonation was hollow and sounded distorted.

“Your misery is second only to your progeny.”  
  
“I have no progeny,” Vincent said. His frame was shaking and chattering. At one moment, it lurched forward and laid a black swipe across his chest. Vincent fell to his knees. His shirt was not torn but a black liquid seeped to the surface and stained his white shirt like he spilled ink all over himself. It burned and ached.   
  
“Concepts like identity and chronology, have all been weathered away. Welcome to the end of the world.”

Vincent wasn’t entirely sure how he got there in one piece, but he did arrive at Diederich’s newly built manor somewhere in the countryside somewhere around 3:00am. Or so he thought. Since the whole dream he felt like he was running on pure ether. His mind was fuzzy and totally disconnected from his body until he opened up the massive front door without so much as a knock. The soft patter of little paws hit the marble floors. A tiny black and brown puppy was enthusiastically approaching him. Her pointy little ears were fully raised. She had her eyes set on Vincent. She tried to bark but could not make a full fledged bark. Instead she made tiny ‘oof’ noises. Her tail was wagging playfully. Vincent knelt down and pet her head gently.

“You have five seconds to get the hell out, before I kill you!” Diederich was angrily going down the hall in a fast walk. He was wearing nothing but a silk robe and carried a hunting rifle with him. Leave it to him to make a dramatic entrance.

“Hey there, beautiful,” Vincent greeted him. He stood up, and picked up Hannah. He waved her little paw back and forth to say hello.  

“Oh, it’s you,” he said, and slung the rifle over his shoulder. He seemed instantly less pissed off and murderous than he had before, but even still, Vincent knew that he wasn’t happy. Only some kind of weirdo would be pleased to see Vincent standing in their home, uninvited in the middle of the night sweaty and covered in his own blood.

“Glad you know you’re not entirely unprepared for a robbery.”

“I got a guard dog. Her name is Hannah.”  
  
“She’s precious,” Vincent said. Hannah was happy and content being held by him. He rubbed his face against her soft fur.    
  
“Well, you can put her down now.”  
  
“I don’t want to,” Vincent said, still happy holding Hannah.

“You’re just going to carry her to bed, aren’t you?” Diederich asked.  
  
“We’re going to bed? Oh my, you’re awfully amorous tonight.”

“No, I am going to bed so I can go the fuck to sleep,” Diederich said. He glared at Vincent but he didn’t seem all that pissed off given the circumstances. Vincent was actually expecting him to be a lot more angry than he was at that moment. He just started walking off and Vincent was left to follow him because that was the closest thing to an invitation into his bedroom that he was going to get.

“Where’s your bedroom?” Vincent asked. He was busy petting Hannah and admiring the somber decor of the house.   
  
“The cats sleep in my bed, so I’ll take you to a guest room.”  
  
“So considerate,” Vincent said as Diederich opened the door to the guest room. He set Hannah down on the floor. The excited puppy ran over and jumped onto the bed. She looked at them expectantly.

“What the hell has gotten into you?”

“I’m hoping you would,” Vincent said. He shoved Diederich against the door. He got shoved back exactly as hard.

“Vincent, I am being serious here. You show up at my house in the middle of the night acting like a lunatic in a bloody shirt soaked in sweat. Don’t think you can just sweet talk your way out of an explanation.”  
  
“If I said the devil, would you believe it?” Vincent asked. He wrapped his arms around the taller man’s shoulders and rested his face against his neck. Diederich wasn’t going for this particular diversion technique.   
  
“I’d be more likely to believe the devil was afraid of you,” he said.   
  
“I’m being very serious here. I just had some kind of…thing,” Vincent admitted. He was only now aware how hard he was breathing.  
  
“Thing?”  
  
“I was dreaming and in the dream I was attacked by a demon and when I woke up…” Vincent stepped back and unbuttoned his shirt to reveal the wound. A shallow wound ran across his pale chest. The blood was starting to form a crusty scab.

“And you wanted me to protect you?”  
  
“Don’t look at me like I’m weak and you pity me.”

“I don’t think you’re weak, I’m just worried about you.”

Worried about him?  Is that as close as he’d be getting to affection on this evening. Diederich took off the robe, to reveal that he wasn’t really wearing anything under it. Vincent didn’t think of him as the kind of guy to sleep in the nude. He took a few seconds to admire his naked body, as Diederich undressed him. Vincent stood still and allowed himself to be played with like a fragile doll. Not that long ago, he had been overcome with a feeling of pervasive, intense, panic. Now he was just going to relax and let whatever was to happen, happen. Diederich picked up and set him down on the mattress. He walked around the bed and laid down on the other side. Vincent rolled over closer to him. It was one of those nearly unheard moments in which he was being tender and romantic. How strange it was that this man was hidden underneath so many layers of harsh words, snark, and insults.

“Tell me, if a demon killed me, would I truly deserve it?” Vincent asked. Diederich took in a deep breath and sighed like he was stalling for time to think of a good answer.   
  
“If a demon killed you, I’d make damn sure it was next,” Diederich said.

“That’s not what I asked.”

 


	43. Expected Arrival

“I knew you’d be here,” Rachelsaid.

Vincent was cuddled up in bed with his’best friend’ and his fiancee had found him here. Which wasn’t evengood detective work on her part, since this was the most obvious place Vincent could have possibly been. That and Tanaka had most likely brought him here and all Rachel had to do was ask. Diederich was not wearing anything, and Vincent was in his shorts, which only made it look even more illicit. It was a good thing that it was cold that night and the blanket was covering most of them. Hannah, the worst guard dog ever, was curled up on the end of the bed, her tail patted the cover as she wagged her tail. Rachel held a stack of clothes with one had and pet the dog’s head with the other. Hannah was more than happy to receive lots of attention and pets. The two young men, however, not so much.

“What are you doing in my home?!” Diederich shouted. He pulled up the blanket to cover his naked shoulders.

“I came here to pick up Vincent,” Rachel explained.

“Go away, and shut up…” Vincent groaned and pulled the blanket over his head. Rachel smiled and pulled it down. Diederich held the part of the blanket that covered him tightly.

“We’re going shopping with Frances and Angelina today,” Rachel told him. He did make a promise but right now, Vincent was try to be comfy in bed. 

“Tell her no,” Vincent said into Diederich’s shoulder.

“I’m not telling her no, you came into my house uninvited in the middle of the night, remember?” Diederich asked him. Revenge really sucked. He pushed Vincent off of his shoulder.

 

“I brought you a change of clothes with your morning kit since I was expecting yours would have been totally shredded,” Rachel told him, setting down a folded clothes at the end of the end. Vincent’s actual clothes from the prior night were neatly folded and set on the floor next to the bed. They were totally not shredded.

“What kind of accusation is that?!” Diederich asked. 

“Well, I walked in on you in bed with my future husband, so I assumed you two were having sex last night.”

“Don’t assume things!”

“Don’t yell at Rachel, it’s not her fault that I’m a beast laden with untamed sexual energy.”

“I am no longer part of this conversation,” Diederich said.

“Rachel, could you give us a few minutes to get dressed?” Vincent asked.

“Why?”

“He’s naked under the blanket, and he doesn’t want anyone to see him naked,” Vincent informed her.

“Then why do you get special permission?”

“I give great head,” Vincent said. If Diederich hadn’t excused himself from this entire embarrassing conversation earlier, he would probably do so now. He stayed silent and had bright red cheeks.

“Frances is with me so if you try to get away by jumping out the window…” Rachel warned him.

“I know, know.”

Vincent and Diederich resurfaced from the room fully dressed and ready for the day. Well, Vincent had mentally prepared himself, Diederich was still ignorant of what the day’s agenda was going to entail. All he knew is that he was promised lunch anywhere he wanted to go. He was also promised anything he wanted at the manor for dinner, and anything else he wanted later on. There was a lot of promising coming out of Vincent’s mouth and the only certain thing is that both of them would be tomorrow at the same time. Vincent just didn’t want to be seated alone with Tanaka when it came to who was going to be carrying everything. Rachel was beaming and happy. She patted Diederich on the shoulder.

“I’m so happy that you’re coming with us,” Rachel told Diederich, like he actually had a choice.

Angelina had spent the entire morning glaring at Vincent and Diederich with her red colored eyes. At first Vincent though she was tired or something. She was completely polite to everyone who wasn’t either of them. She either was staring directly into Vincent’s eyes or glaring at him, or doing both of these things and looking away from him the very second he met her glance. No, she definitely continued to be unsupportive of their marriage. Maybe she knew Vincent wasn’t really into Rachel. Maybe she just didn’t like his hair cut, or didn’t appreciate his wit. Maybe she was just that kind of sibling who didn’t think anyone would have been good enough. Vincent didn’t understand why she was this way, but he really would’ve liked it if she actually spoke to him about it. Rachel, didn’t see what the problem was. To her, Angelina was just the sweetest, most innocent girl there was. Vincent couldn’t say that he agreed with her. Something about her hit him right in the gut where his intuition was and all it said was that Angelina was no good.

“Vin, I’m going to visit the tailor to pick out trims for my dress, so you can leave me alone for a bit, right?” Rachel asked him. Great. Finally a break from Rachel’s bizarre younger sister.

“I’m not allowed to see the dress until your wedding day,” Vincent said. He was just repeating whatever Rachel told him to repeat. He did a good job of it.

“Precisely! So go kill some time with Diederich while we’re picking out trim, alright?”

“So I’m getting married to Rachel, that is a thing that I am doing,” Vincent said. He was staring at his shoes. They were nice but he wore them frequently, so there was really point in carefully inspecting him. He was just walking aimlessly around, not really planning to go anywhere. 

“Yes you are.”

“You can leave me if you want to,” Vincent said.

“I don’t want to leave you because you’re marrying Rachel, but I’d rather not talk about his without her,” Diederich said. He sat down on a bench across the way from the tailor shop. Vincent sat next to him. People were walking past, it was business as usual. 

“You don’t seem to talk with her often,” Vincent said. Vincent rarely was out at this time of the day, it seemed too bright and too early. He took out a cigarette and lit it with a match, tossing the match to the ground carelessly. 

“It feels strange to talk with someone when you’re involved romantically with their lover.”

“Rachel and I aren’t lovers, though.”

“Rachel is very pretty though,” Diederich said. 

“I don’t like pretty, I like that you put on a mask of frustration and grumpiness to cover up the fact that you really do care about me,” Vincent told him. 

“I don’t do that.”

“You do,” Rachel said. She sat on Vincent’s lap, the layers of her bustle made a rustling noise as she sat on them. “Vincent is basically the same, he spent so much time hating you when you first started working together but then something happened, and it’s like you turned his love switch on, and here I was thinking he was as incapable of romance as I am.”

“Please don’t use the phrase love switch ever again,” Vincent said.

“I’ll use it when I want to bother you. So, what were you two talking about?”

“He feels uncomfortable around you because he thinks you’re upset with him because we’re involved.”

“I can speak for myself,” Diederich insisted.

“Well we’d be here until the next decade waiting for you to talk about your feelings.”

“You are doing me a favor. Seriously, do you think I can keep up with him? Or that I even want to?” Rachel asked. 

“Speaking of favors, can you tell Angelina to be less… glarey at me?” Vincent asked her.

“She has not been glaring at you, Vincent. My sister would never glare or have ill feelings towards anyone.”

“Rachel, I am entirely sure that if you put them alone in a room, she would try to kill him,” Diederich said.

“And what makes you think something so horrible about my sister?” Rachel asked. She looked pissed as hell.

“It’s a feeling I get. I don’t trust her at all and I think she would look for any reason to breakup your engagement with Vincent.”

“I have to agree with him, I’ve always gotten the feeling that I’ve done something to make her dislike me.”

“You are both ridiculous and paranoid. Angelina is just very shy around men,” Rachel explained. She stood up and began walking towards her sister and Frances. Frances was carrying several heavy bags and seemed unbothered by it. Yet, when Vincent got close to her, she immediately thrust the bags into his grasp.

“Your turn,” she told him. Vincent passed the bags to Diederich.

“It would be improper to hold anything but a beautiful ladies hand, wouldn’t it?” Vincent asked. He glared at Angelina as he clasped Rachel’s hand tightly and kissed it. Diederich rolled his eyes and sighed. Vincent would go to any length to spite those who doubted him or stood in the way of his plans.


	44. A Promise You Can't Keep May As Well Be A Lie

They were in the chapel and it was tooearly in the morning. Rachel was wearing the most beautiful weddingdress that anyone could have designed. Her beautiful face was coveredwith a veil. Vincent’s heart was concealed in a veil of poorly knit together lies. She could have been a princess with prince charming, but it was really more like she was Persephone, being trapped in the underworld by Hades. While his real lover was standing beside him in the black suit. He couldn’t help but think how unfair this entire affair was to her, though she did not seem wholly unhappy at the altar. Rachel wanted money and power. Vincent wanted love. A love that he couldn’t ever have. He looked at her and smiled the most fake smile he could have, but everyone around him would’ve mistaken it for legitimate happiness.

“Even when times are difficult, I promise I will always be by your side,” Vincent said. This wasn’t his only vow, but he couldn’t remember to write down the rest of it. He stood up there and said the biggest lies he could think of at the time. That he loved her. That he would be faithful to her. Even when she was standing less than a foot away from him, even when she knew he wasn’t pious, faithful, or kind. It felt a lot less like a promise, and more like an insult towards Rachel’s intelligence. This kind of disingenuity was so below him, and he was serving it up to his best friend. This entire affair was so below Rachel, she didn’t deserve this at all.

Vincent pulled back the veil and kissed Rachel. “I’m sorry,” Vincent whispered in her ear. Rachel patted his back gently.

The crowd would say that it was touching, people would be talking about this ceremony. It was as if they were in a fairy tale. Vincent played the part of the handsome prince, and Rachel the princess. Soon they would be crowned queen and king. Alexis began to cry. Frances reached into her purse and got out a silk handkerchief to blot out his tears. Diederich sat next to them and sighed deeply with Frances. Neither of them were easily fooled. Everyone else invited was taken aback by the beauty of the ceremony. Even Angelina looked at her beautiful sister with a wistful expression. Vincent didn’t know how he felt, but he tried to swallow his feelings like a mouthful of high proof alcohol and forget about it. At least one thing was true, and that was the singular fact that Vincent was a fantastic actor.

The after-wedding brunch was no less full of lies. The Phantomhive estate had been opened up. The garden party was catered to with only the best food. People walked in and out of the manor like it was some fine museum. Rachel’s plan to make everyone around her envious of her life had worked. People were all kinds off ooo-ing and aah-ing at the decor. People were quietly conversing over how beautiful the wedding ceremony had been. Frances was standing around and rolling her eyes at this trite conversation. She and Vincent exchanged glances. Both of them were already so tired of this, and Vincent hadn’t even left for his honeymoon with Rachel. All the time both of them were very much aware, the next wedding either one of them would be attending was the one between her and Alexis.

“Are you happy?” Vincent asked her.

“What do you mean?”  
  
“Do you think about marrying me, and regret it?”

“Why would I regret marrying you?” Rachel asked as though he had just asked a very stupid question. Vincent didn’t it was a particularly stupid thing to ask, though he could have asked her before hey went into the church that morning.   
  
“I’m a murderer, and a madman. I have sex behind your back all the time, and I don’t even try to hide it. I’ve already been fucking up our marriage and we’ve been married for less than a day.”

“I don’t care about those things. You treat me like I’m actually an equal to you, which by the way, is almost unheard of,” Rachel told him. “I’m not in this because I think you’re going to turn around and love me the second you slipped the ring on my finger. I don’t expect or want you to love me. I just want you to provide for me. That is all.”

“It sounds so shallow when you say it like that,” Vincent said.

“Well, what do you want me to do? To call you an idiot and pretend that I don’t care about you then kiss you against the wall?”  
  
“Is that what you think we’re really like when we’re alone?”

“I’m sorry, fuck you mercilessly against the wall, honest mistake,” Rachel said. Vincent started giggling loudly.

“How about I fuck you against the wall for a change? It is, after all, tradition,” Vincent suggested.

“You don’t have to do anything like that for me.”

“Just because I don’t love you doesn’t mean that I can’t provide you with a pleasurable night,” Vincent told her.

“Are you sure you’re okay with it? You don’t have to have sex with me on our wedding night.”

“It’s fine, you’re doing me a favor with this whole marriage deal, so let me give you on in return.”

Rachel started to undress. Goddamn, she was wearing so many layers. It took Vincent only a minute or two to undress himself. She was still unbuttoning the back of her dress while he stood there nude and awkward. A horrific flashback of the awful, awful time he had spent in a dress. The awful things women did to themselves in the name of fashion both confused and horrified him. He sat on the bed, his skin feeling cold and getting goosebumps as he waited for Rachel to undress. She had taken off every thing, save her corset. She pointed back at it, motioning for Vincent to help her by unlacing it. The problem? The knot was tied very, very tight and he couldn’t get it undone. 

“Do you even know how to untie a knot?” Rachel asked.

“Fuck this,” Vincent said. He took a switch blade and with a click, had the blade unsheathed.

“Is that a switch blade? Do I look like Diederich to you?” Rachel retorted. Vincent held her still by the shoulder.  

“Relax,” Vincent said. He slipped the knife underneath the ribbon and yanked it up hard, slicing through the silk ribbons. The corset fell off of her torso.

“What the hell?!” Rachel exclaimed as she wrapped her arms over her breasts. Normally this kind of knife-disrobing would have been passionate and hot. Instead, it was awkward and she was so not turned on by it. There was no risk or danger in heir relationship, Rachel wasn’t intimidated by the blade, she was just pissed off because he had torn a perfectly good ribbon. Vincent felt a little embarrassed because he had gone into this whole thing as some kind of perverse sexual deviant, and now, he felt like an awkward nineteen old boy who was rifling through a ladies panties for the first time in his life. It was horribly unsexy. Rachel was going to lose her virginity in the worst way, which is what he wanted to avoid.  

“It’s off,” Vincent said. He sounded exasperated and the sex hadn’t even started yet.   
  
“You completely ruined a perfectly good corset lace, you idiot!”

“Sorry,” Vincent said.

“…I don’t even know why I’m doing this with you. I should have an affair.”  
  
“Because I need an heir, right?” Vincent asked her. It was at this moment he realized that his cock was being completely unresponsive to this situation. It was basically like an overcooked pasta noodle. Not at all helpful. Most men would not be able to control themselves in this situation. Instead, the stiffest part of his lower anatomy was the metal barbel going through the head of his penis. He said nothing, because it wouldn’t help, and bringing up how flaccid he was not likely to get Rachel in the mood.

“I don’t think you’re very good, I think Diederich is so loud because he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings,” Rachel said. Damn it. She had already become aware of his dysfunction. Vincent swears, normally he has no problem getting it up. Usually he has the exact opposite problem.   
  
“I promised you a good wedding night, and I do like to keep my promises when I can,” Vincent said. He pressed her onto her back, her head against the pillow.   
  
“It’s rather strange when it’s you,” Rachel told him.

“Close your eyes and pretend I’m someone else,” he told her. Rachel closed her eyes and Vincent laid on his stomach. He spread her legs and lurched over her. He placed a quick kiss on her soft, pink painted lips Some of the wax transferred to his own.

“Alright, you can be a hot brunette with long hair, and pale skin. Like a prince in the night…” Rachel said. Now she was talking like she was in some kind of harlequin vampire romance novel. Sadly, Vincent wasn’t a hella buff dude with long, flowing locks, but rather a dandy with a taste for anything outrageously expensive and just a bit tacky. Her cupped her breasts and gave them a quick squeeze. He could feel her nipples getting hard under his finger tips.  Alright, so these were totally fun to play with. Rachel moaned quietly under his touch.

“Long hair? Seriously? That’s the kind of guy you’re into?” Vincent asked. He ran his finger tips down the length of her thighs.  He could feel her shiver beneath his touch. She wasn’t responding to him vocally. Only with the sounds of her deep breathing. She was doing a fantastic job at pretending she was somewhere else, with someone else. Hopefully somebody with as much sexual stamina as Vincent normally had.

He kissed her neck and bite into it gently, careful not to leave any marks. Rachel threw her arms around his neck and softly cried out into his shoulder.  Vincent took one his hands and started to gently stroke her clitoris. Not enough to do anything but tease her. She was doing a fantastic job at pretending she was elsewhere but Vincent’s mind was drifting further south. Rachel seemed to be lost in whatever fantasy she had thought up. Vincent wanted to ask her about it later. For now, he was concentrated on making this so enjoyable for her that the last thing she’d want to do after this was give him a series of strange questions.  Rachel tried to reach forward to touch him and Vincent flinched. Her kissed her quickly and nipped at her bottom lip, this time hard enough to draw blood. She didn’t seem to mind.

“Stop that,” Vincent said, pushing her hand back, “Just let me make you feel good.”

He gently kissed each of her breasts and continued a line of kissed down her abdomen. He went further south and kissed the inner part of her thighs. Rachel let out a moan and he knew that he was doing a marvelous job of teasing her.  He reached out his tongue and gave her clitoris a tentative lick. She started squirming beneath his touch and that is when he mentally thanked himself for not fucking this night up completely. Vincent grabbed her by the hips to hold her still. Rachel was gripping the sheets as he continued. He laid one arms on top of her abdomen and with his other hand trailed a single finger tip up t her thigh and gently pressed at her entrance with his finger. Rachel gasped loudly. Vincent eased in another finger, and lapped away at her clit while moving his fingers in and out.

“Is that good?” Vincent stopped for a second to ask. Rachel responded by grabbing his hair roughly and pulling his face even closer. Her grip was like a vice and her nails were digging into his scalp. She was in the cliche throes of ecstasy while Vincent felt so guilty. He felt less guilty when she finally not enough to ensure that he would be sleeping well.

“Still thinking Diederich is only being polite?” Vincent asked. His tone was back to being artificially cocky and arrogant. He’d like to have some pride in the fact that his first adventure in diving off the coast of Muff had been a successful one.

“Good night Vincent,” Rachel said. She turned over on her side and blew out the candles and did not face him again.


	45. Thrown to the Wolves

**Chapter 45: Thrown to the Wolves**

It had a been quantity of time since the last task Vincent had been given by the queen. She more or less gave him a long, extended break. Well, he had been on break and he had been no near closer to siring a child then he was before he got married. In fact, he hadn't had sex with her after that first time. They were sleeping in bed together, but that was mostly because Vincent couldn't stand sleeping alone. If he needed to get laid, well, Diederich didn't live far away. He hadn't gone with them on the wonderful vacation he and Rachel did to America (where they spent more time gambling and drinking in the casinos in Saratoga than anything else) but he had enjoyed some time off work. According to Frances, he was helping her with fencing training. Yet, when Vincent saw that auspicious royal crimson seal on a letter, he knew that his holiday was officially over.

"Hey, remember our first case where I we made that deal that said if you don't have to go undercover as woman, then you have to go undercover on the next mission, no matter what it is?" Vincent asked. This was standard lunch time banter at the townhouse for them. Kind of.

"...I don't like where this conversation is going," Diederich said. He sipped on his tea and in between sips, scowled at Vincent like they were enemies. They were only enemies in this moment of time. Vincent hoped.

"I'm going to sell you as a sex slave to a local brothel as part of a sex trafficking sting," Vincent said, continuing on wards, as though his partner in crime had said yes.

"Not happening."

"Honestly, I treat you like my sex slave most of the time anyways, so it's not like you're going to be entirely out of place."

"I'm going to pretend you did not say that to me."

"I'm not wrong."

"If I had an entire week, without sleep, to list off all the reasons why you are wrong, I wouldn't even scratch the surface."

"Come on," Vincent protested.

"I've entertained plenty of your sick fantasies, but there is no way in hell I would let you do that."

"This isn't a fantasy, this is a case,"

"It is not happening. You can go sell yourself," Diederich said. He looked defensive, and really, Vincent couldn't begrudge him on it. The case still had to be completed, and there was no way in hell he would ever, ever outsource the duty to Frances or Rachel.

"No, I can't because, well," Vincent said. He had a good reason why he couldn't.

"Because what?" Diederich asked.

"Well, the brothel that is selling young men is well, one that I used to go to frequently. They know me there. Fairly well, actually I'm not even sure if they'll let me since I got kicked out the last time I was there," Vincent explained. It was a dark incident. The uh, orgy incident. He wished that he had drank enough that night to forget, but he did not. He only drank enough to make a complete ass of himself and get his own as thrown out of the pit. He would have preferred that his lover not know of that particular sexual accident in his past.

"And why exactly did they kick you out?"

"It involved a horse and-"

"No. I don't want to hear anymore."

"What?" Vincent asked him with a confused ecpression. Diederich just glared at him in reply.

"In addition, you're going to need to let Lau borrow you for part of the deal."

"You mean the mafia guy who uses spice trading to cover up for his drug dealing?" Diederich asked. Vincent nodded, remembering how much those two didn't get along. Nothing was going to go right in his case. He felt it in his bones. Lau and Diederich were going to spend more time arguing than Vincent and Diederich were going to argue and with all the arguing, nothing was was going to get done.

"Yeah. You're familiar with his products. He sells more than opium, though."

"So help me Vincent, if someone tries to rape me, I'm going to kill you," he hissed that sentence like he meant it. Vincent was starting to think that he died, Diederich probably wouldn't even go to his funeral. He wasn't really sure why he was in love with a guy like that, actually. He probably wouldn't even try to give Rachel a consolatory hug. He wouldn't even send a card in condolence.

"Relax, I'm not leaving you in there alone."

"But Lau, is he entirely trustworthy? I don't want to find myself tied up in someone's basement."

"Lau and I go way back. We're good when it comes to deals."

"I still don't see why you couldn't do this. You ending up someone's bitch would actually make sense, a sex addict like you might actually enjoy it."

"Because I've paid my dues when it comes to getting tied up in the basement," Vincent said with an uncharacteristic frown. He was not going to be pushed into doing that. Goodness knows, if he did get put in a submissive position, he'd probably have a metal breakdown and end up killing everyone. Which was the goal, yes, but only part of the goal. The main idea, as he was figuring out, was to kill the head of the ring, Thomas Graham. Thomas was getting an all you can eat bullet buffet tonight and it was the watchdog's treat.

"This is humiliating," Diederich complained. He was wearing a leather collar, a white shirt, and black pants and black shoes. He was so under-dressed. Vincent tightened leather cuffs around his wrists. He had a chain leash and clipped to the ring on the collar. They were standing by the docks, where one of Lau's ships were docked. The man occasionally liked to live on a massive, lvaishly decorated boat. He was a strange fellow. Then again, that much opium does things to a man's head.

"Oh hello Earl, I heard you had to a drop off a dog for me?" Lau asked. He was just rubbing salts in the humiliation wounds Diederich was incurring.

"Don't hurt him, just send him to the location," Vincent said, as if there was any way that a lam like Lau could over power someone as a strong as Diederich. Lau knew his way around a knife but Diederich could kill with his bare hands and the carefully tended muscles of his body.

"What is his cover story?" Lau asked.

"He's a student wanting to attend Oxford but doesn't have the money. You told him he could be a bartender at a local club," Vincent said.

"And the reality?" Lau asked with a smirk like he wasn't already aware of what events were to be transpiring here. He was looking just as forward to seeing this happen as Vincent was, even though Lau wouldn't be caught dead at a molly bar. There wouldn't be any cute girls.

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here," Diederich said.

"Get used to it, slave boy."

"Go fuck yourself, Lau."

Vincent headed head back to his townhouse, because he had a party to get ready for. He had managed to secure an invitation to one of Thomas's parties. He held them at a no-women-allowed brothel. They weren't really parties, they were more like orgies, where everything was made up and the laws of morality or physics didn't matter. Frankly, after a long, sexless vacation with his wife, he was starting to warm up to the idea. Some friendly voyeurism could never hurt whilst he was on the job. Then perhaps afterward, he could take his erection and give Diederich a treat after a job well done.

Vincent was wearing his favorite outfit. He was wearing a gauzy lace shirt which he did not button and let the collar splay over the sides of his velvet jacket, which had heavy silver embroidery all over it. It left most of his chest bare so that he could wear a rather large and ornate ruby necklace. Which he had stolen from Rachel. Dangles of rubies looked like drops of blood falling across his pale white chest. He had Rachel do up his makeup. He wore a light coating of powder and black charcoal around his eyes. He told Rachel he wanted to look good. She sighed when she saw him swipe her jewelry and put it on.

"Well certainly look like a man going to have sex with other men," Rachel said with a snicker.

"Oh hunty," Vincent said in the most obnoxious voice ever. You know the one.

"Never do that again," Rachel said with a deadpan expression. Then they both laughed. Rachel patted him on the shoulder, "Try not to catch something."

Vincent made his way by himself on foot to the brothel. It didn't look like a brothel. It looked like a hole in the wall bar from the outside and from the inside, but that was just the front room. There was a bartender cleaning glasses. He looked at Vincent with an exasperated expression. and sighed. "Do you have an invitation?" he asked Vincent handed him the invitation. The bartender looked at it, and burned it with a nearby candle, leaving no trace behind but ashes. He sighed deeply as thought everything and anything was a hindrance to his life. He reminded Vincent of someone else but was not nearly as handsome enough. A door next to the bar, one that could have been mistaken for a broom closet or something of as much importance opened, the real entrance to the brothel, and out came Thomas. Right out of the closet, so to speak.

"Phantomhive, Phantomhive, what a pleasant surprise~" Thomas greeted him. He was a like a less pretty version of Chambers, if Chambers could make himself any less attractive. He was a natural dishwater blonde but tried lightening his hair artificially- it was obvious. His dark brown roots were sticking out. He could have at least had the decency to try and wear a hat or to mention he must have hired a terrible stylist. He was too old to pull of the swishy blonde locks thing, anyways. And he probably didn't shave this morning either.

He was just some cheap, knock-off, off-brand version of Chambers who got popular because Chambers was to busy studying in medical school to have his weekly whore parties. It was ridiculous how the social scenes standards had gotten this low. Usually Thomas's parties were good because they were like a dive bar to fuck someone on. There was an air of mystery to the place, but the mystery was what kid of disease you were likely to get. He was trying to be classy and failed at it.

"You wrote my invitation personally," Vincent said. It was handwritten and signed on the bottom.

"Well, yes, but I know you have a flare for dramatic entrances, just as you have a flair for dramatic exits, by the way, I was hard pressed to invite you given your poor behavior last time. The invitation comes with... certain... strings attached to it."

"I assure you, marriage has... dulled me down a bit. I really could sharpen my blade, if you get what I 'm saying," Vincent told him.

"Married?" Thomas asked, "And Suddenly you fancy yourself to be a really classy guy, right?"

"I am the one and only Earl Phantomhive, heir to a rather, prestigious line of people, it is only right that I should be the part. " Vincent said.

"I think you're every bit as vicious as you used to be, or otherwise I wouldn't have invited you here,"

"My, whats the occasion?"

"Come up stairs to the office," Thomas said.

The hallways and stairs were old and dusty. The wallpaper was peeling in some places and looked like it had been stained with smoke from cigarettes and other things. It looked suitably dingy. Thomash led him to the office, which was centered by a cracked and old wooden desk, half empty book shelves. On the desk lay some staitonary and a particularly attractive letter opener. Diederich was tied up and kneeling in front of the desk. A ball gag was stuffed in his mouth. His arms were tied behind him and his ankles tied to his hands. It looked humiliating. His shirt was torn off, his arms and chest were bruised already.

"You see, we might have been a bit overzealous in entrapping some foreigners and well, we caught this obvious spy trying to infiltrate us. We took him out earlier and someone tipped off us that he's actually a spy, and had been spying for some time." Thomas said.

Vincent eyes widened and he blinked quickly, trying to remove the expression of horror on his face. He couldn't break character yet. He needed to call backup. Immediately. Tanaka would be waiting by the phone. He was meeting eye contact with his partner in crime. Diederich didn't look scared, he just looked really, really pissed off. Vincent took in a deep breath and centered himself in this situation. He needed an escape plan- fast. At least they didn't suspect Vincent as being a spy himself."

"The real reason why I invited you is because he can't get him to talk at all, and I really, really needed to hire the best investigator. Or perhaps, the most sadistic one. I know you well enough to say for sure that you're the man for the job, right?"

"Absolutely," Vincent said with a low chuckle. He cracked his knuckles underneath his leather gloves.

"Well then, spy, I'd like to introduce you to the Queen's Watchdog, Phantomhive. He's going to make you sing like a song bird," Thomas said. He knelt down and removed the rubber ball gag from Diederich's mouth. Diederich spit out on the carpet. It wasn't a nice carpet, but the insult part of it reminded. He looked at Vincent with his dark hazel eyes. He looked entirely unimpressed.

"Bite me, Phantomhive," he said defiantly.

"What a poor choice of words," Vincent replied.


	46. Say Red

"You know, Thomas, I'd like to have some alone time with him," Vincent said. He winked.

"Private investigation?" Thomas inquired. He wasn't looking very convinced.

"Oh, I know, I'll interrogate him thoroughly, I just want to have some fun first, I didn't come out here to party just to get sucked into my work," Vincent said. He'd rather get sucked by something else. Thomas left out on obnoxious laugh and patted Vincent on the shoulder.

"Have fun, Phantomhive, hope you give him a good bangin'" Thomas said and gave them a wave that was supposed to be coy or inviting. The lecher.

Vincent bent down to Diederich's level and with a smirk on his face, pet his already disheveled hair like he would pet a dog. His arms were immobilized by the restraints so he could fight Vincent back or slap his hands away. Vincent got his face closer. "They could be watching this, I'll make it convincing," Vincent whispered. He could feel Diederich nodding slowly. Good. So he understood the situation.

Vincent bit his neck, hard. Hard enough to leave a mark. Hard enough to draw blood. He wasn't ever going to admit to liking it, and he had made the smallest, quietest groan possible as Vincent's teeth sank into his skin. Vincent pulled back to observe his handiwork. Diederich was flushed red, with crimson flowing down his neck, down his collarbones and down to his chest. Vincent let out a low chuckle as Diederich looked at him, humiliated, embarrassed, and probably turned on. He stood up and looked down at his partner, and right now, his captive. He was going to have so much fun with this.

"Now, If you bite me, I'll have to hurt you," Vincent said. The hypocrite. Vincent pulled a rather fancy looking pistol out of his pocket and held it in front of Diederich's face. The gun matched his outfit perfectly. Diederich reached his tongue forward and licked the ornate barrel of the pistol. He looked up at Vincent with a smirk on his face. Vincent tried not to laugh, in case Thomas was listening in. He probably was, the pervert.

"You're going to have to lick with a little more enthusiasm, if you want me to let you live," Vincent threatened. He was faking, obviously. To him and Diederich. To any onlookers, it would appear as if Vincent was close to seriously killed this man. Those high school drama club lessons actually had a purpose.

"Like I'll ever let you," Diederich retorted with a cocky expression. For a second they were back to their old rivalry, to see who was gonna give in first. But it was the same as it's always been. Vincent was always going to win. Vincent undid his pants and pulled out his pierced cock. The silver ring sparkled in the low light. It was intimidating.

"With your body tied up all tight like that, I'm not so sure you have much of a choice," Vincent said, gripping his hair tightly with his hands. He didn't have to tel Diederich to open his mouth, he almost took it in with a sort of eagerness that came from being a closet perv. The horrible confession that he was having fun with this wouldn't get past his lips, but Vincent's penis certainly could.

"Come on, you can use me harder than that," Diederich said, pulling back from him for a second to breathe.

"Well, if you say so," Vincent told him. He gripped his hair tighter, and did something he knew Diederich was not fond of. He pulled Diederich's face closer, causing him to cough and gag around Vincnet's erection. Then Vincent pulled him back, giving him a second of room to take him a breath of air before repeating this same routine time and time again, violently taking Diederich by the throat until he reached climax. When he was finished, Vincent let go of his hair. Diederich was coughing and choking. He had fallen over, his face pressed against the now soiled carpet.

Vincent opened the door. Thomas was standing just outside of it, his back pressed against he wall.

"I'm done with my initial investigation. He told me nothing of use. Where to now?" Vincent asked.

Thomas saw Diederich lay on the floor, cum leaking out of his mouth and pulled him up by the hair until he was kneeling on shaky legs. He undid the ankle restraints so that the prisoner of war could stand on two legs but Diederich was shaky and out of breath. Thomas had a solid grip on the restraints that went from Diederich's elbows, down to his wrists, holding his arms together. Vincent followed them down to the basement. Diederich was dragged by his arms with Thomas, practically pushed down the stairs. He was stumbling. He even nearly fell down a few times. He was in horrible shape and part of it was entirely Vincent's fault.

Vincent lit up an opium cigarette when they stepped into the basement, that was done up like a dungeon. There was a small crowd of cronies that worked for Thomas. There were some tables too. A group of men were playing poker and curiously looking at what the tacky cat dragged in. Thomas gave them a knowing nod. Thomas looked at Vincent as he was expecting some kind of verbal message. Vincent sighed deeply in exasperation.

"Strap him up," Vincent said. The goons hooked a chain that was dangling from the ceiling by a pully to the ends of the restraints, but Vincent waved his arms frantically with the cigarette clenched between his teeth. They stopped and looked at him with confused expressions on their faces

"No, no. Not like that," Vincent said with a sigh and a groan. "Must I do everything around here?" he lamented.

"You see, if you tie him strappado, then you'd hoist him up for what, five minutes before you tear the muscles in his shoulders, and he blacks out? And where is the fun in that? If you do it with his arms forward, he can stay tied up for much, much longer. Endurance gentlemen. Think before you torture, it will last much longer that way," Vincent said. It was more of a rant.

"You're a real sadist, aren't you Phantomhive?" Thomas asked.

"Authentic sadist. Accept no imitations. Would anyone else know as much?" Vincent asked. He untied the restraints that were around his arms. Thomas handed him a rope. Diederich held his hands forward as Vincent tied them together carefully. He took the hook and the chain and raised it. Diederich had his arms hoisted above his head, and pulled up so that he was forced to stand on his toes. His entire chest was bare and unprotected. He thrashed from side to side in defiance.

"Let me go!" Diederich yelled. The crowd was growing. Someone wooed.

"Alright then, who sent you here?" Vincent asked. It was rhetorical. Diederich still looked defiant.

"I don't know, I'm not high enough clearance to know their name," Diederich said. He was making it all up himself. Vincent had sent him here. Now if that wasn't ironic, it was hard to tell what real irony is.

"Step one- don't break out the fun stuff right away."

He took off one of his gloves and tossed it to the floor nonchalantly, and held up his hand. His nails were kept Neat, clean and long enough to do some real damage. Some might compare it to a woman's manicure, but to a smart assassin, it was more like weaponizing his own body. Diederich was not going to give into this much. Goodness knows, Vincent had already scratched him up from head to toe on numerous occasions before. He leaned in, perching his nails on the man's collarbones.

"I'm sorry," Vincent whispered. Diederich screamed. It was not a scream of pleasure. He was actually hurting. Vincent's nails had dug down into skin, leaving behind scrapes that bled. He repeated it again, cutting shallow cuts into flesh from where his nails dragged down. There had been mutual agreement that this could be a little bit fun, but that time was done. Now Diederich was in terrible pain, and Vincent was in a terrible state because of it. Every scratch felt like it was hitting the both of them.

"Who sent you here?" Vincent repeated.

"I told you already. I don't know."

"Step two- Always be sure to bring your own whip to celebrations like this," Vincent said. Thomas was paying attention on him. Vincent could feel Thomas's eyes all over his body to the point where he was starting to feel violated. Vincent could not fathom how disgusting Diederich must have been in this situation.

He had a active audience. Everyone was waiting on tenterhooks to see what he might do next. Someone was probably fornicating with themselves to the sight of punishing his partner. The poker players had denigrated themselves to make out sessions to the pleasant rhythm of hits and screams of Vincent's punishment. He reached into the ever deep pockets of his jacket and pulled out a black leather whip. If nothing else, Vincent was always prepared for sexual debauchery. He uncoiled the whip and gave it a quick snap on the ground. Vincent could instantly see his partner in crime go pale, and it gave him a pang of guilt and frustration down in his soul. Miracles happened. Vincent finally felt guilty about something and Diederich was legitimately afraid of Vincent.

"If you don't tell me the whole truth," Vincent threatened him.

"I told you everything," Diederich pleaded. It feel on deaf ears. The man who summoned him here was standing before him. The man who got him to this trouble was himself. Vincent wasn't sure how Diederich broke cover, but he did. They were stuck in this situation together.

"I don't believe you," Vincent growled. The crowd cheered. The whip cracked through the air and made a slicing sound as it cut into his bare chest. He cried out. The crowd whooped and hollered. Vincent whipped him like a disobedient cattle, time, time and time again in rapid succession, so fast that counting the strokes would have been useless. The crowd was cheering. Vincent was half-convinced that someone, their excitement, had thrown silver coins to the dirty basement floor. He could hear them taking bets. It made him sick. He took another drag of his opium cigarette. It was almost finished.

"I don't know anything... please..." Diederich pleaded. His eyes were full of tears. Sweat dripped from his skin into the fresh wounds. Vincent's heart felt it could have shattered at any moment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that I am doing an authorial question and answer video for this story up chapter 50. Please hit up the tumblr account (www.crossing-of-the-lines.tumblr.com) and send in some questions. As before, you can always ask questions to Vin and Dee. :3


	47. Sell Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder, I am doing a video Q&A panel where you can all ask me questions. Feel free to bring any questions you want me to answer to the tumblr, crossing-of-the-lines or anywhere I can read them!

"Well, boys, I think I need a break," Vincent said. He was panting heavily. Whipping and beating someone was really quite the workout. People were cheering and taking pictures. But as he said this, the crowd died out a little bit, a few boos were let out. There had to be at least 30 people stuffed into that basement, just to watch some casual debasement. It was getting hot and he could smell the sweat of the people festooned in all silk jackets and shirts,who remained clothed to remain propriety, even in moments like these. Vincent had the sense to wear a lighter gauzy shirt under his jacket but he was so distraught that he was no longer aware of the temperature of his body.

"If you whipped him any harder, you would have thrown your own back out," Thomas said. He clapped his hands enthusiastically. Others imitated him. Every clap seemed like a slap in the face.

"Just drop him to the ground and let him lie there," Vincent instructed. Thomism lowered the chains and Diederich fell to the dirt floor of the basement with a thump and a groan. Thomas patted Vincent's shoulder they were friends. Vincent looked back at Thomas with a look of disdain. On the floor, Diederich was breathing shallow and making very little movement. He did not even try to make eye contact with Vincent.

Vincent looked around for a telephone. He found it in a corner of the brothel were there few people. Almost everyone was either helping themselves in the upstairs rooms or downstairs to watch the show. Vincent picked up the phone. He slumped against the wall next to the phone and took in deep breaths to settle his shaking hands. He dialed Tanaka at his townhouse. He looked over his shoulder once and then twice more, to make sure nobody was listening. "I'm going to need you iron my clothes when I arrive home," he said and hung up quickly. He strolled away from the telephone as if it was a casual call. He didn't want someone to suspect him.

Vincent retreated to the bathroom to recollect himself. It wasn't dirty, it was just the size of a closet and the mirror had some fine line cracks running across it. He took in deep breathes then lit up an opium cigarette. One breath in. Exhale. A deep breath in, exhale. His hands were starting to shake less, he felt that pleasureable blanket envelop him in a drug addled haze. His eyes were taking on that blood shot and glassy look. There was a knock on the door. "Fuck off, people are trying to do drugs in here," he retorted. The door was locked. He smoked some more. He needed to get these thoughts out of his head. The person on the other end picked the lock and slammed the door behind him. Vincent looked up from his cigarette to find a familiar face. Inspector Graves. He wasn't informed that Graves was also on the case.

"Earl Phantomhive," Graves said. He was an older man, more bitter than overbrewed cheap coffee. He hit inspector and wanted more. He'd do anything to get to the top. He was always paying off reporters to do little pieces here and there on him in the papers. Even if he donated a pound in the cup of a beggar, he wanted to be seen as some kind of angel cleaning up the filth in London. It was really annoying to a man like Vincent, who was doing the real hard work around here. It was harder doing drugs and torturing their boyfriend than anyone would have guessed.

"Oh, it's you, Inspector. What a lovely surprise. It was hard to recognize you with your face behind that camera and the horrendous fake mustache," Vincent said. He took another drag of his cigarette, burning it down to the tip. He flicked away the bud and put on the spare pair of leather glove he had stashed in his deep pockets. He put his cigarette case away and looked at Graves with a sarcastic smirk.

"I've been going out alone, doing my own investigation on you, Phantomhive. I tipped off Thomas that your little 'partner' over there in the dregs was a spy. You know, I really hate it when a pompous little fag ends up being second hand to the queen. I see how your last case went up in flames, that you got into trouble in America, and this little spectacle- it's really quite damning."

"A pompous fag, is that what you're calling me?" Vincent asked him. He maintained a flat expression, the waves of opium calming down what could have been a burst of rage.

"One that fucks his partner, isn't it? You know, you came here to expose Thomas for human trafficking. I cam here to expose you for what you really are. A two cent detective and sodomite," Graves hissed. He fancied himself to be a real clever man, didn't he? Well, Vincent didn't mind. He was even more clever.

"So clever. Really, I honestly don't know what tipped you off to it, is it my pretty face? My handsome bodyguard? My stylish clothing? My collection of Oscar Wilde screen plays?" Vincent asked.

"There are rumors about you, and I looked into them. They haven't reached the crown but they reached me. I have worked so hard to be an inspector, yet you're the one who gets the better cases! Now that I finally have proof, I'm going to put you in a prison cell you can't get out of. I want you gone. That way I will be the queen's watchdog," Grave informed him.

"Want to know why I'm watchdog dog and you're not? Because I'm the better detective. Want to know why I'm the better detective? I stole this letter opener from Thomas's desk. I'm going to frame him with it," Vincent said. He felt the rage hit him like heart burn but he had it contained under a calm, and possibly stoned expression. He looked high, he felt too powerful to handle.

"Frame him for what? Having bad taste?" Graves asked. He was a man lacking in both a decent sex life and creativity. Vincent took the letter opener out of his pocket. It looked like a tiny cavalier sword decorated with gold and sapphires. He twirled it in his fingers like a toy while Graves looked at him with disdain. He just couldn't appreciate a good work of art. Vincent could.

"Murdering you," Vincent said. He looked at Graves for a second with his lifeless brown eyes before stabbing him thrice in the neck with the tiny sword. He was moving so fast the blows all seemed to be one, long stabbing motion. Graves had blood bubbling up here and there from his carotid artery. Vincent looked down at him without a hint of mercy.

"Inspector Graves. Killed in the bathroom with a letter opener. How's that for a closet case?! Here's a tip to take with you to hell- don't fuck with the man I love," Vincent said. He lifted his boot and stamped down on Grave's head before dropping the letter opener on his chest and heading back to the main attraction of the party.

Vincent was still running on the high of his kill. On the way back into the room, someone gave him a glass of champagne. Diederich was still laying on the floor. Withe a stamp of his boot, he brought foot down on Diederich's forearm. It let out a resounding snap and crack as the bone broke. He screamed loud enough to wake the dead. Anyone passing by the brothel on the streets, this late at night, probably could hear the sound he made. It sounded something like the combination of a complete loss of hope mixed with the sound of a dying animal at the meat house.

"Please... stop... I don't know anything," Diederich begged. Vincent scoffed. He took a sip of the liquor, and it tasted like piss mixed with bubbly. He hated cheap champagne and it made sense that Thomas wouldn't have anything decent. He spat it out across Diederich's bare and cut up back and spilled the rest of the glass on his wounds.

"You are a terrible spy, and an even worse beggar. I am not inclined to give you anything at all, especially not mercy," Vincent said.

"I don't know anything, I swear."

"Come on, I want to hear you beg me for more, beg me for freedom," Vincent said. If he wouldn't surrender, than he'd be begging for more torture.

"Please," Diederich hissed. His voice was hoarse, his vocal cords shredded from all of the screaming he had been doing. This is when Vincent knew he was probably going to be alright. Probably. He was able to form conscious words. This was a good sign, or was it it?

The lights blacked out. Tanaka was here to save the day. Finally. Those few moments in which Vincent waited for him almost felt like centuries. People were screaming. Vincent could hear the sound of sloshing of wine and blood that was poured into the floor. He let out a single gun shot to let Tanaka known where he was. He had a broken and passed out Diederich. They retreated from the brothel just as the police had arrived, hearing gun shots and the sound of people screaming. This was surely going to be reported in the paper tomorrow. Vincent didn't have to apprehend anything but his own sanity. The police were going to find Graves, and Thomas was going to taken care of just like the queen wanted him to be.

He picked up Diederich and carried him slung over his shoulder like a beaten up rag doll. During the entire way to the townhouse, he did not move or make a sounds. If Vincent was not so close to him, he would not have even known the man was still breathing. Tanaka walked behind them with a somber expression on his face. He wasn't going to ask, as if he already knew that asking was just another way to rub salt into Vincent's mental wounds. They arrived at the London townhouse, where Vincent knew both of them were going to safe.

"I'm so sorry," Vincent said, as Tanaka washed up Diederich's unconscious body in a warm bath. Vincent could see the extent to which he had abused him. His heart welled up with a terrible pain, and the panging feel of guilt. He felt himself let out a sob.

"You should sleep," Tanaka said. Vincent shook his head.

"I don't want to sleep until I know he's alright, please brew me a pot of coffee," Vincent said. Tananak gave him a knowing nod and left the room, leaving Vincent to cry by himself.

 


	48. A Way To Say You're Sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions about this fic will be answered in a fun little video interview. If you want to ask question please visit:   
> http://crossing-of-the-lines.tumblr.com/ask  
>  with your questions. Anon is on so you don't need tumblr account to ask.

Diederich was laying in Vincent's bed, his mind was hazy and foggy from the opium that Vincent had given him. He had hardly stirred since Vincent and Tanaka dragged him home from the prior night's events, that left him wounded. He was covered with bruises, and Vincent was sure that he had broken his arm. His back looked like a tiger with the amount of stripes that lay across it from the whip. Tanaka had rubbed salve on his back and wrapped Diederich up tight. There were other bandages covering his wounds. When he opened his eyes, Vincent was sitting in a chair that was put beside the bed. Vincent could feel his on heart beating out of his chest.

"Good morning," Diederich said. He tried to sit up and the second he put pressure on his arms, he howled out in pain and went back to lying on his back. His pupils were dilated, as he was still feeling the effects of the pain drugs going through his system.

"We're having a doctor visit you soon, I did a number on you," Vincent said. That was the best he could do. Call a doctor, because Vincent knew he had fucked something up that he couldn't fix, at least not on his own.

"You're telling me, I feel horrible," Diederich said. He groaned and tried not to move a single inch. His back was all striped with welts and cuts and colorful bruises.

"Want more opium?"

"Hell no, not that devils's substance," Diederich groaned, "but if you could get me a cup of tea," he suggested. Vincent pulled the call bell for Tanaka to come into his bedroom.

"Can you please make us some tea?" Vincent asked.

Soon Tanaka arrived with a pot of vibrant green tea. He poured them both cups of tea into one of their many fine wedgwood sets that the family owned. Diederich casually sipped on his tea. Vincent gulped it down nervously. Diederich didn't seem angry or upset with him, as he should have been. There was no yelling, just the vague groaning as Diederich tried to sit upright and put pressure on his tortured backside.

"Green tea is known for its health benefits, but it's also known to be a great source of male energy!" Vincent told him, with a smirk on his face. Male energy, more like male libido.

"There's always an ulterior motive with you, isn;t there?" Diederich asked. Vincent smiled.

"I'm telling you, this green tea is good for the male stamina. I drink tons of it every day and you know how good I can be," Vincent said. So that his secret, tea and being a ridiculous sex pervert.

"And how bad you can be," Diederich said.

"I'm sorry about that." Vincent told him. He knew he would need to put forth a lot more than just a simple sorry for what he had done.

"It couldn't be helped. There is no need to apologize. You did what you had to do," Diederich said. Vincent gasped in surprise, he was taken a back by his gentle forgiveness.

"So you forgive me?" Vincent asked. He sounded surprised, as though he didn't really feel like he deserved forgiveness in this situation. He didn't expect forgiveness. He expected anger, disappointment, even fear, but Diederich took a severe beating better than anyone else. Anyone else probably would have never spoken to Vincent ever again, and would have been justified in that, but Diederich stuck around. Vincent was hoping it was because he loved him.

"You did nothing wrong, there is nothing to do forgive. I am just glad that we're alive and together after a close call like that," Diederich said. Together. Vincent said, even though he felt like he had left his partner out alone to fend himself from the wolves. Diederich was acting uncharacteristically gracious and soft. It was probably the opium speaking.

The doctor arrived. He was man Vincent hired because he was known from his discretion. He had come to Vincent's townhouse while being paid a very lovely stack of currency. Just to examine one of the Earl's 'most trusted friend' who had 'gotten very unlikely in a fight' the previous night and needed to be tended to with some serious care. As 'the friend' was also a noble of foreign birth and did not not want anyone t know that he had 'lost in a bar fight'. A very peculiar 'bar fight' in which here was a whips and nail marks and somehow his body became whip-shredded and bruised in place not normally hit during bar fights. It was the least convincing cover, but the doctor didn't care, and that was the important factor Vincent looked into the people he hired. That nobody ask any goddamn questions. Vincent left the room while the doctor examined Diederich. When he left, he reentered the room.

"Well, it appears that I have a broken arm, one broken rib, and that according to him, I was in one of the worst bar fights he had ever seen," Diederich said.

"Bar fight? That was your excuse?" Vincent asked.

"Better than beaten up by my sadist lover in a brothel," Diederich said. Vincent let out a sigh.

"At least I paid him good, he won't be talking."

"You say that like there weren't any witnesses."

"I didn't want to tell you until you got better, but the man who outed your undercover status was a member of the yard who was doing his very own solo expose on me while pretending to be a simple photographer for Thomas's event. He wanted to catch us in the act."

"And?"

"I killed him with a letter opener I swiped from Thomas's desk, framed Thomas. Now Thomas and his cohorts are danging on the gallows for human trafficking, conspiracy to commit murder, and sodomy, the last of which the papers are focusing the most heavily on," Vincent explained. Diederich looked at him and Vincent looked back at him with the saddest eyes a sociopath like Vincent could have. Vincent's voice became low and timid, as if he was truly afraid of something for the first time, in a very, very long time. He had spent so much time getting away for things that he almost forgot what it felt like to be afraid of an authority figure. So long he had been on top and now he was scared.

"I feel like I'm selling myself," Vincent whined, "I don't feel safe anymore, I don't," he said. Diederich wrapped the arm that wasn't in a sling around Vincent for a brief moment.

"We can get through this. You destroyed all of the photos and anyone that knew about us is deep in rigor mortis," Diederich assured him. He knew how Vincent worked. There were would be not a single witness left alive.

"But what if they weren't. The queen would have us strung up there with the rest of them," Vincent told him, and in that moment, he realized the truth of his relationship to the crown. It was so easy for him to be dismissed as another casualty of a war against nothing.

"You don't have to worry about that, I'm right here for you, and you're here for me, and neither of us would let the other die," Diederich said.

"I can't protect anyone," Vincent said with a sullen expression.

"It's fine, I will protect you when you can't."

"But what if..."

"There is no such thing as what if. They're dead. We're not."

"Had Tanaka not intervened we would be killed with the rest of them. There is no difference between them and us, at least not in the eyes of the law," Vincent said. As a tragic as it was for him to be held accountable for any action, fun or not, he wasn't entirely above the law.

"That's not all there is to it. Look, loving you is not easy, but if it wasn't worth the risk then I would not be here right now," Diederich told him. Vincent hugged him. His arms were like a steel vice and he was crushing Diederich between them. Affectionately.

"You're hurting me again," Diederich said. Vincent tried to let go of him, but only loosened his grip slightly.

"This isn't comfortable."

"Vincent."

"This was fun for a precious few minutes but, if you want to hold onto me like a poppet you are going to have to do it in a position that is comfortable for both of us." Vincent let go of him and they got into a position, in which, Vincent was holding Diederich his lap and petting him affectionately, like how someone would pet their dog. Vincent stroked his nearly black brunette hair softly Diederich relaxed in his arms.

"Better?" Vincent asked.

"If you tell anyone about this, I'll put you in a grave I swear," Diederich said. His head was still resting against Vincent's chest and he wasn't objecting to any of it this time. This was a ridiculously sappy moment. It would be a real shame if any one in Vincent's family found out about this. Even posthumously, this would embarrass Vincent so much if anyone knew about this moment. It was private, it was almost even a little embarrassing. He hoped that this moment would never make it out of his journals for anyone else to read about it. Vincent even turned a little red in the cheeks as he wrote this particular journal entry.

"You really are like a dog sometimes."

"I'll bite you," Diederich threatened.

"The doctor gave you opium, didn't he?" Vincent asked. There was no way he was

"I'm still recovering," Diederich protested. But his good arm was once again playing ass grab with Vincent's buttcheek and Vincent knew the reason why. It was the opium. There were some things Diederich wouldn't do sober, and copping a feel was one of them. It was actually pretty weird considering how much much he was groping him the second any kind of drug got into this system. Vincent came up with a working theory that Diederich thought of touching him often, but never did it because he's too uptight, and when a little of the devil's poppy syrup went into his veins, it instantly took out that filter between urges and actions. So now he was feel to cop of all the feels.

"One of these days you're going to have to touch me when you're sober," Vincent told him with a smirk on his face.

"I'm gonna tell you a secret, I uh, I liked it when you hit me, ha ha," Diederich said.

"Oh for fucks sake, I'm calling up that doctor and tell him you've been given too much," Vincent said. He patted Diederich lightly on the shoulder.

"I feel so light and fuzzy, good night, you bastard," Diederich said. He was leaning on Vincent and getting a little bit heavy.

"What? You can't be serious right now," Vincent said.

He was now dead weight, and it was hard to move. Diederich weighed considerably more than Vincent, granted that he was built of solid, pale skinned muscle over rock hard bones and over rock hard abdominal muscles. It was hard to imagine such a strong guy with that natural athletes build in such a submissive position, but there he was. And damn it, Vincent was perhaps, not as built as he would have liked to have been, and maybe, could fit into his sister's clothes easily.

"Damn it," Vincent muttered under his breath. He was pinned there. Maybe temporarily acting like a mattress was just another way of saying I'm sorry.

 


	49. Cold Hearted

"I wanted to tell you that I'm going on a vacation. I wanted to see you before I left," Diederich said. He approached Vincent like he had planned out every part of it himself. Vincent had a feeling that Diederich wasn't going alone on this trip. In his mind, images of illicit overseas affairs came into his mind the second Diederich said vacation. Sure, it was getting to be a cold October but even though it was cold inside, it was so hot on the inside.

"Oh yeah? Where are we going?" Vincent asked.

"We are not going anywhere. My parents have called on me to deal with some serious family business." Diederich said. Vincent felt his heart sink back into his chest. His heart shrank three sizes that second and he looked up at Diederich with his brown puppy eyes, and got nothing out of it. It just wasn't working on him.

"But isn't that during Oktoberfest? Wouldn't that be a fun excuse to spend time together?" Rachel interrupted, like she really, really wanted to tag along with Vincent to be friends. Nope. Vincent knew that what Rachel wanted to do was get drunk on some that famous german beer.

"Look, I don't have time to babysit you two. I want to get through this as fast as possible."

"Why? Why not have fun with it?" Rachel asked. With her and Vincent both lobbying for his to drag them around Germany to have a little fun, he couldn't surely say no.

"My parents haven't spoken to me since I moved to England, and haven't even sent me letters on the holidays. This isn't a family fun time."

"Diederich, your tragic back story is showing," Vincent said. He was glowered at.

"I'm leaving. Alone, and I'm not taking you two with me. That is final," Diederich said. The Phantomhive duo's cuteness tactics had completely failed them.

A few days later, Diederich was getting aboard a train going to Germany. He had a light travel case he took with him, as he was clearly only spending a short time there. Vincent and Rachel were observing him from a distance as he put things away in a rented sleeper car and went back to the passenger car with a book to read. In the passenger car, whom else did he find, but Rachel and Vincent Phantomhive. Rachel was dressed in a pale pink day dress with intricate pleated ribbon work, and Vincent was wearing a comical fake mustache.

"You're not fooling me with that stupid disguise," Diederich said and ripped the fake mustache off Vincent's upper lip. Admittedly, that mustache did look ridiculous, but it was put on with a rather strong glue that required some work to be attached.

"Ouch! That was glued to my face, you know!" Vincent said. Rachel was giggling.

"I told you both not to follow me," Diederich said.

"We're not following you, we simply happen to be taking a vacation to Germany at the same exact time that you're leaving for your business," Rachel said with a sweet and fake smil.e

"That is the worst lie," Diederich said in an exasperated tone. He sat down next to the in the booth. Vincent had a criminology book which already had all of kinds of book markers stuck between its pages. Rachel was working on some embroidery work.

"What else are expecting out of us?" Vincent asked.

"Nothing else," Diederich sighed, "I even told my parents I was bringing company."

"We're going to have so much fun. I rarely get to go out much," Rachel said. She was bursting with happiness and excitement.

"Don't say that like I force you to stay inside the house all day."

"You do!"

"Because you get sick easily," Vincent said. It was true, Rachel didn't go out very much but it was so easy for her brash personality to get in the way, and she over exerted herself much too often. Which, invariably, ended up in a vicious cycle where she would feel fine, over exert herself into an attack, spend a week recovering, and then do it all again.

"So, Dee, why are you going away to visit your parents?" Vincent asked. Diederich had just as many issues with his parents as Vincent did, which was remarkable, because Vincent ended up killing both of his parents.

"It's a personal issue."

"We're all friends here," Vincent said.

"It's a family thing."

"Oh come on, just tell me what it is."

"Promise me you will not act out when you hear this," Diederich said in a low tone. His eyes darted around, like he was avoiding making eye contact. He was lying and showing all the markers. Page 85- a lack, or inability to make eye contact can indicate a person is lying. It was right there in the book, and unlike Diederich, books don't lie.

"With an opener like that, I'm not promising anything."

"Rachel, would you mind if we left to speak privately?" Diederich asked. Rachel shook her head quickly, and got back to her work that was more important than her husband's disagreements with his 'illicit love affair'. Diederich walked Vincent into his private sleeper car. He took the suitcase off of the bed and put it on the floor. Vincent and Diederich sat on the bed.

"My parents had arranged a legal agreement between myself and a third party in exchange for money."

"And what the hell does that mean?"

"I'm getting married."

"YOU'RE WHAT?!" Vincent shouted.

The door opened and Rachel looked in. Clearly she could have heard Vincent screaming from the general seating car. She looked at a sullen Vincent with a concerned expression. "You okay?"

"I am NOT okay," Vincent said, then stormed out of the compartment.

"I'll go simmer him down a bit," Rachel said and followed after him. Vincent sat down for a few seconds then went back to Diederich, because he could not contain the emotions he was feeling. They crawled through his veins like the high of a drug. The rage he was feeling poisoned his blood like arsenic or laudanum. He had to get it out and there was only one person he could get it out towards.

"I'm pissed as hell at you, that you were planning on getting married to some bitch you've never even met behind my back!"

"It's a legal agreement my parents signed. It's pen and paper. It means nothing to me"

"If it was nothing, then why did you refuse to tell me about it? Just how was this visit going to go in your little plan?"

"I was planning on marrying her at my parents castle while you guys were having fun, then I'd pretend that you had an emergency in England that you needed me to help with and I needed to leave immediately. Then I'd never come back. My parents get the money. She gets the marriage ceremony, and I can put it all behind me," Diederich explained. It was a great plan, brilliant in it's outright coldheartedness, but there was one minor flaw. It involved him getting married and to Vincent, that was too risky of a flaw to make the plan acceptable.

"You know what you're not putting behind you? The fact that you planned on lying to me."

"Because you're reacting like this. I'm afraid you might try hurting her or something."

"I'll give that conniving bitch a piece of my mind," Vincent said.

"She doesn't speak english."

"That's alright, because I have a certain hand gesture I'd like to share with her."

"Vincent, no. As much as I hate them, you are not to act rude to my family, or Oktavia."

"Oh so she has a name," Vincent said.

"Yes. Oktavia Von Seckendorff is an opera singer whose parents are very, very wealthy have paid my parents a large sum of money so that Oktavia could have a husband because she's is already forty and has not yet been married," Diederich was explaining.

"You're fucking kidding me. You've been sold to an old rich bitch," Vincent said. His expression was dark. An ocean of discontent was swimming in his mind. A part of him could not accept this. He felt like he needed to craw out of his own skin. He felt like he was having a manic episode.

"Vincent, please."

"If they're just selling your virginity off to the highest bidder I'll pay triple what her family is paying."

"That's not the point. I am legally obligated to marry this woman, if I don't then my family go bankrupt and be penniless."

"So what if they do? What the hell do you care? You have your own fortune. I pay you plenty," Vincent argued.

"Because, as much as I hate it, it's the right thing to do," Diederich said.

"What about what you said to me? Don't I mean more to you than your parents? Goodness knows, I certainly care more about you than they do, and it's their own fault if they don't have money."

"Don't try to guilt me. I've already had enough of it from everyone else. You're acting like a spoiled child who has to make himself the center of everything in my universe," Diederich told him. He stopped staring at Vincent and picked up his book. This tactic was super ineffective at dealing with an irate Vincent. Vincent was looming over him like an angry, dark cloud, threatening to rain on his parade and then set it on fire, probably.

"I can't stand you sometimes," Vincent said.

"I know something that will cheer you up," Diederich said.

"You're just placating me," Vincent said, but Diederich wrapped his arms around him in a warm hug. Alright, so it was somewhat easy to change Vincent's demeanor if the right bait was used. He was interested in it. Diederich kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"The only way I know to make you less pissed off is physical release, isn't that true?"

At the train station, Diederich's parents and whom Vincent assumed was Oktavia were waiting. He could not determine which one was his mother and which one was his fiancee. She was forty in the same way that a grown hen was an egg. She was probably hot twenty years ago. Now she was a washed up has-been of an opera signer who had failed in all aspects of life, including marriage, but that whole marriage thing was fixable. Because Diederich parents were degenerates, and he had no choice but to be married off to this bitch. Like a bitch. Yet, he was Vincent's bitch so j really, Diederich was already spoken for but nobody would acknowledge their gay little relationship, and Vincent would not acknowledge Diederich's straight little abomination of the law and decency.

Diederich gestured towards them, "Earl and Lady Phantomhive," he said along with a bunch of stuff Vincent couldn't understand.

"What did you say Vincent asked.

"You are my friend and my business partner,"

"Did you mention you are also my sexual partner?"

"Vincent!" Diederich hissed.

"What? They don't know what I'm saying," Vincent said. Rachel was giggling behind his back.

"Don't laugh Rachel, it's not funny," Diederich told her.

"Oktavia wants to know what business you do," Diederich said.

"Tell her that we kill people together. Tell her that I can make it look like an accident if she touches you."

"I'll telling her you're also a philanthropist."

"She wants to know what charities you work with,"

"Orphans. I had a soft spot for orphaned children after I became an orphan because I murdered my own parents in what the tabloids called a 'tragic carriage accident'."

"Rachel could you stop encouraging him."

"No can do," Rachel giggled.

"My parents are making comments about you and Rachel acting like lovesick teenagers."

"Wait until we wake up everyone up with the sounds your moaning," Vincent said. He was sniggering. He and Rachel were acting like teenagers, but Rachel, being younger than her soul seemed, was still a teenager and so his parents weren't exactly wrong.

"Thank goodness I brought my ear plugs," Rachel said.

The castle which Diederich's parents lived lay out past the german country side, and through a thick, and creepy forest. The October air was chilly and felt like it could chill them to the bone. The castle sat on the edge of a massive lake, the waters of which were placid and calm. The lake was black and probably inhabitable in some eerily unexplained way. The castle was over bearing and imposing, witch an old gothic style that was crumbling from disrepair in some parts. It had probably stood there for hundreds of years, being carefully looked over, until Diederich's parents and their stupid gambling had put it over the edge.

"I'll give you two the tour," Diederich said. Oktavia was also being led around the castle by Diederich's parents, happily pointing out things out to her as the spoke in german and Oktavia let out a wink slip out at Diederich. Vincent's blood was boiling. He could hardly contain it.

"This place is creepy," Rachel said, as she passed a few idle cobwebs that clung to the brick walls. The hallways were lit with gas lanterns instead of electric ones like Vincent was used to in his own manor. Dracula could move right into the basement and all this place home.

"I didn't think so when I was a child, but back then, I didn't know anything else," Diederich said.

"Didn't your parents ever y'know, take you out on vacations?" Vincent asked.

"Not at all. My brother and I were taught lessons by a hired tutor who would come here. I rarely left the castle until I went to Weston," Diederich said.

"Your parents just love dropping bombs on you like that, don't they? First they take you out of the country to go study in England, then they drag you back to Germany for an arranged marriage you were never told you had until recently."

"Well, they're not horrible people Vincent, they just don't have their priorities..."

"They are kind of horrible people, even my parents wouldn't force me to marry someone who I didn't like," Rachel said.

"You went into that willingly," Diederich said with a smirk. They highfived.

"Hey now," Vincent said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the name Oktavia Von Seckendorff is from "Puella Magi Madoka Magica". It took it for symbolic purposes, not just because I was too lazy to think of something original. If you're a fan of Madoka Magica, you'll understand why. If you don't, just enjoy what precious time you have before the big cliffhanger plot twist that comes in chapter 50 on Saturday! I promise it'll leave your jaws collectively hanging open!


	50. Normal

It was a cold October morning and Diederich had gotten up extra early to take a swim in the lake. He was completely nude in the cool, black waters of the lake. Swimming just out past the docks in laps, and Vincent watched him do so. The surface was just light enough to capture not only reflections of the sunlight on its surface, but also the reflection of Diederich’s pale skin. Vincent stared out from the window of the guest room and stared at Diederich with voyeuristic intent. He was really enjoying this special view. Talk about a room with a view, right.

“God bless this country,” Vincent muttered under his breath. It was in this foolish moment, that he decided that he should stop being a watch and start being an active participant. He put on nothing but his thin smoking robe and walked out of castle towards the docks.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” Diederich asked. He stopped swimming laps and was now floating at the end of the docks, staring up at Vincent.

“I’m going skinny dipping with you of course,” Vincent insisted.

“Vincent don’t,” Diederich said.

“No, we’re doing this. We are making this happen,” Vincent said as he untied his robe.

“Vincent you don’t want to-” and fuck it, Vincent jumped off of the dock and into the water before Diederich could finish his sentence.

“HOLY SWEET GOD OF FUCK ALMIGHTY!” Vincent screeched.

“It’s really cold,” Diederich told him.

“I think my balls have disappeared.”

“Yeah, and I told you not to jump in and what do you do? Jump in like an idiot,” Diederich said.

“Please hold me I’m so cold,"Vincent said, trying to grab onto Diederich’s shoulders. Diederich pushed him away.

"Vincent stop, don’t touch me where people could see us.”

“I heard screaming,” Rachel said. She was standing on the docks in a thick plush robe and her white nightgown.

“Go inside Rachel, the cold air could aggravate your lungs,” Vincent told her in a strict tone of voice. This frigid german air would have her out in a second if she wasn’t being careful.

“If you were having sex you just could have me to leave nicely!”

“We are NOT having sex out here!” Diederich shouted.

“Nice yell, why not yell it again in german so your entire family can hear it,” Vincent said. Diederich splashed him with water while he was shivering.

Diederich’s parents were kind enough to take the Phantomhives and their ‘wayward but reliable’ son to the opera house to see Oktavia perform. Now, this was a high class, black tie affair as they sat in the private booth near the top of the massive opera house. They were even stocked with bubbly and tea sandwiches (obviously requested by a certain sandwich hound). Yet something about this occasion seemed a bit dry and it wasn’t the wine. It was the performance of well, there wasn’t really a grand audience there. More than half of the opera house was empty and what people were there were probably drunk. They should have noticed this omen coming into the place. Oktavia’s performance was well, it wasn’t terrible, in the sense that there wasn’t a word strong enough in the english language to describe her.

To say that she skipped or missed a few notes would be generous. She was missing more than she was hitting and everything was too flat or too sharp. Rachel and Vincent alone had finished off one of the bottles of wine. Diederich by himself had obliterated the sandwiches. Now he was too sober and they too drunk to really have an enjoyable evening. Oktavia was letting the winos have the worst performance any of them had ever seen. Perhaps this was less of a opera hour as it was a stand up comedy hour, and the comedian had no idea what her real profession was. Vincent lit up an opium cigarette and took a deep drag. He felt the smoke burn up his lungs and he let it out with a great sigh.

“I’d like to see how she sings with a fat cock shoved down her throat.”

“Vincent!” Diederich hissed.

“It doesn’t have to be mine,” Vincent said, taking a hit, “I’ll bring a horse.”

“A horse wouldn’t be as big,” Rachel said, and then they high fived. Diederich’s parents frowned and Diederich was whispering something to them in german. This was going to be one hell of a night.

After the opera, they returned to the castle for an evening dinner, which was decent enough. Rachel and Vincent chattered with themselves. Diederich and Oktavia were talking loudly and animatedly with his parents, as if there was nothing wrong with this situation. They were ignoring Vincent and Rachel, in a way that was not just because of the language barrier. Diederich interrupted Rachel’s profanity laden monologue on the less-than-positive gossip she had received on some of her sisters suitors. It was some what freeing to use certain words in public, some times the word fuck really drove a point home.

“Oktavia would like to know what you thought of the opera tonight, so keep it nice,” Diederich asked them with a very stern look on his face. It was different than the smile he had shown Oktavia. Something like acid, some thing like jealousy boiled in Vincent’s stomach.

“It was riveting,” Vincent said with a fake smile.

“I agree, very good!” Rachel said with a clap, and hopefully that was enough fakeness to let them get off for being snarky the entire night.

“Vincent, this way,” Diederich said. He tugged on the sleeve of Vincent’s black coat and dragged him through the gloomy walkways of the castle into the decrepit library. Rachel was still standing, unsure of what to do but she did not follow them. There was nothing but the dim gas lamps illuminating them both here. It wa poingant. Vincent wanted to kiss him as much as he wanted to slap him across the face.

“Why are we so alone?” Vincent asked.

“Because I need some private time with you,” Diederich said.

“If I was going to yell at you for how you’ve been behaving lately, I would’ve done it already,” Vincent said. As unhappy as he was with how friendly his pet was being with a certain horrid opera singer, he wasn’t that mad about it.

“Yell at me, Vincent? You’re real fucking stupid aren’t you?”

“What did you call me?”

“An idiot. A completely, inconsiderate, idiot. You act like you own me,” Diederich hissed.

“Don’t I?” Vincent asked with a cocky grin that was not well received.

“No. You don’t. I don’t follow you because you have some kind of control over me. The truth is that I only follow you and do what you say because I wanted to. I don’t need you to order me around. I don’t need you keep me company. I am fine, no, better off without you. You act like like I need you. The truth? You’re the one who needs me. You can’t even control yourself, what makes you think you could ever have a hold over someone stronger than you?”

“What are you getting at?” Vincent asked.

“Being with you was a mistake.”

“What,” Vincent could feel his jaw hanging astray. He couldn’t believe these words.

“Your proclivities towards me are indicative of mental illness. There is something very, very wrong with you. Whatever… you and I have done, it should have never happened. You’re a mad man for thinking that we could ever be together in the romantic sense.”

“You should leave here with Rachel and forget about what we did. I will stay here and marry Oktavia like I am supposed. It can be like we never knew each other, like these past three years never happened. We can go on living our lives like none of this ever happened.”

Vincent could not imagine a world in which he and Diederich were not involved. He had this entire idea for what was going to happen. Rachel would be fine with the whole affair thing. Diederich would just live near by Vincent and would be like a second father figure to their child. He would be there when Rachel was sick. Vincent had built up a tower of ideas and situations. Chrismases, easters breakfasts, anniversaries, for decades. All of it was a fantasy but it seemed so real, like he could reach out and touch this bright future. Now it felt cold and distant like this old castle, all cracked bricks and cold, unheated rooms. The moon was less bright and the sun was less warm. It felt like there was no light that reach Vincent at the time.

“I gave you everything… I gave you the power you could use to hurt me, and I didn’t think you would. I can’t pretend like I don’t.. love you.”

“You’re utterly pathetic.”

“I don’t want to lie. I really love you.”

“Well, I don’t see how anyone could ever love you back. Go home Vincent. I don’t belong to you and you don’t belong here,” Diederich said.

Vincent stood up on his two legs. He was shivering in anger, or in fear. Ugly tears were cascading down his cheeks. His face was bright red out of humiliation and embarrassing. Here was nothing was beautiful. It was a sloppy ugly cry. Diederich was already out of the room. His legs like felt white hot and like they were crumbling beneath them. His body felt like it was made out of gelatin. His head was stuffed with cotton and he too overstimulated to think logically. He could hear his heart screaming out a thousand wailing cries, and if he started screaming he wouldn’t be able to stop. Everything in his mind was just nothing but rot and filth. Everything after that conversation was black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the 50th chapter of "crossing lines" and if you've made it half way, I am so grateful. Thank you so much for reading my story and letting me share it with people from all over this strange little planet. I truly hope that you will continue reading this story to the very end. Today is my birthday, not that anyone cares, but your collective reaction to this plot twist would be the most lovely gift. :) Especially since right after this, I am posting intermission stuff. Let me introduce the INTERMISSION. The intermission will be a short comedy fic that gives Vin and Dee the happy ending they obviously aren't getting in this story. The title will be "A Series of Indecent Incidents".
> 
> Other intermission goodies include "Interview with a vampire" in interview where I answer questions from awesome readers in weird ways, and lots more character questions and answer posts on the tumblr! So while the intermission is rolling, please, please, check out the tumblr! See you soon when I dish out the epic conclusion to this EPIC CLIFFHANGER.


	51. Trainwreck

"Vincent, what did you do?!" Rachel shouted. She was crying and her face was red with anger. They were in a hotel room.

"I don't... remember. I blacked out. I just remember getting drunk and then, nothing."

"Well, you know Diederich's wife? She's dead, Vincent. She was murdered. I was in a bar and he was asking me if I knew where you were. I told him you had gone to his castle and I hadn't seen you. I swear he's going to be back here any minute with the police now so get packed!"

"I- don't know what to do." He looked down at his bare hands. He couldn't have killed her. He never went to a crime scene, or hell, out in public without his gloves. He even brought five pairs of identical black leather gloves with him on vacation. Just in case two pairs wasn't enough.

Then he remembered. He remembered leaving the castle with Rachel. Excuses were made about his wife's health condition. Diederich's parents were happy to have their guests gone from the castle and did not question it further. They checked into a hotel. Rachel left the hotel to go drinking in town. Her german was terrible but apparently, when everyone is drunk, it doesn't matter very much. He drank too much then went back to the castle. He could not remember what happened then. The next memory was of him stumbling into the hotel room, and tossing pair of ruined, blood soaked gloves into the trash bin. Then he had blacked out, and there he was. No Tanaka. No Frances. Just a very pissed off wife who had no idea how to handle this kind of situation.

"VINCENT!" Rachel screeched.

"Now is not the time to get lost in your sick little mind! The police will here to take our crazy arses away if you don't get us both the hell out of this country. Now fucking think of something!" Rachel shouted at him. There was a knock on the door.

"Fuck its the police," Rachel said.

"Rachel, please open the door," Diederich said.

"I have written instructions. Follow them exactly as I have written them and you will arrive home safely without trouble," he said. He had a pistol aimed at her head and held out paper for her. Rachel took her packed suitcase and the paper and left in a hurry. Vincent felt sick and indignant. He thought he knew Diederich, but this man who held a gun at an innocent woman like Rachel, he didn't know that man very well at all.

"She's sick, she shouldn't travel by hersel-" Vincent pleaded.

"Shut your fucking mouth before I blow it right off your face with this gun."

He grabbed Vincent by the arm and dragged him off the bed. He still had the gun waved at him.

"We're leaving. You follow me or I'll kill you right here and I'd get away with it as well."

"You're taking me to the police, aren't you?" Vincent asked.

He had fucked up and now he'd likely be put to death in a foreign nation. Rachel was going god-knows-where and Vincent had never felt so scared for so many lives at one time. He was scared for his own, for his wife's, and scared for anyone else that might piss off Diederich today. He felt alone because the one person who could have saved his ass in this situation had told him that he never wanted to see him again, and Vincent had to stick by him no matter how much hurt. Or otherwise, he'd be shot and he'd have to deal with his the aching pain in his heart and the sharp pain of a bullet to the flesh.

The one thing that hurt Vincent the most is that he had realized that all of this pain was his own fault. Diederich's grasp on his upper arm didn't feel comforting or familiar, instead he felt like an executioner and Vincent's head was up to the highest bidder. He had always fantasized about dying with Diederich, not dying because of him. Though it was really Vincent's fault. He didn't have to kill Oktavia. His relationship with Diederich was already over before he murdered her. Killing her was never going to get Diederich back, he was out to sea. This made Vincent a psycho murderer. He spent enough time around them and now he was in their company. He mind just went to to autopilot and bam!- the bitch was dead and all of this heart break was Vincent's fault. He should have never taken his bet with the man beside him seriously. His heart ached so much, Vincent wished that he could take all of this back.

"No," Diederich. He dragged Vincent along the cobblestone side walk, not caring what passerbys were thinking. Vincent wrested his arm away from Diederich, lest it be ripped off in a rush.

"Where are we going?" Vincent asked.

"Incognito."

"Keep up or you will rot on the gallows!" Diederich shouted. Vincent ran after him.

They were at the train station. By the time they had arrived, Diederich and Vincent were both out of breath, but Diederich was simply a bit rustled. Vincent was both cold and sweating from having to run after him. His hair was a mess and everything about his body felt oddly sticky. Diederich handed him a ticket, but Vincent couldn't read it. He stood by Diederich, following him like a sick puppy. He stood by the loading train with confused and hurt expression on his face. A man approached him, and Diederich stepped in to answer his question.

"What is that guy saying?"

"He asked where our luggage was. On a trip like this it would be strange to board empty handed."

"What did you tell him?"

"A servant was running late and would fetch it time. Let's go," Diederich said. He reached to grab Vincent again but Vincent pulled away from him and followed him into the train of his own accord. Diederich lead him into a sleeper car. The rest of the passengers were starting to get seated in the main cars but Diederich slammed the sleepercar door behind them and shut the curtains so that they let no light into the car.

"A sleeper car. Where is this train headed to?" Vincent asked curiously.

"Italy."

"Why?"

"You're hung over and exhausted, get some sleep."

"Please tell me, why."

"We'll talk when you've gotten some sleep," Diederich said. Vincent picked the bottom bunk of the sleeper car. He took off his jacket and his shoes and laid down on the mattress. It wasn't at comfortable and even though he should have, he didn't feel like sleeping at all. Diederich sat and watched him for awhile. Vincent turned over but he could feel the other man's eyes all over him. Making sure that he didn't get up or do anything again. Vincent felt like a prisoner.

"I'm going to the diner car to see if they have any food. Don't you dare leave this car, unless you want me to hunt you down."

"Good bye germany," Vincent whispered to himself.

He could feel the train moving beneath him, and he could feel himself drifting off into an uncomfortable slumber. He wished that he could be back home in his manor. So he could lay in his massive bed and cry all day and nobody would be there, staring him down like he was entirely to blame. When he woke, Diederich was looking directly at him. He had a few sandwiches on a plate and Vincent took one of them and ate it silently. Diederich did not bite his hand off for taking one of his sandwiches, and that alone was a good omen. Or perhaps not.

"Let's talk about what you did," Diederich said in a plain way. He sounded less upset than he did before. It must have been easy for him, so Vincent thought. Diederich didn't really care about Oktavia, he only seemed to really care about doing what society deemed 'normal', and so he broke Vincent's heart. So what if he was a murderer, at least Vincent didn't go around breaking hearts. Alright, so he did. But he didn't completely shatter someone's entire existence. Alright, so he did just that. Even Vincent was finding it hard to be on his own side in this situation. He took out a cigarette and lit it up.

"I don't remember," Vincent confessed. He knew he had murdered Oktavia. In cold blood. Premeditated. Probably violently. He had committed first degree murder and he was aware of the victim, and the reasons why were nebulous in his mind. He just forgot how and where the entire thing happened. It was like his heart was in too much pain to handle the situation so his mind just shut down.

"I do. I did not give Rachel all the detail as to spare you in her eyes. Let me tell you what I walked in you doing. I saw you hold Oktavia by the neck as you sliced open her torso, cut out her heart and eat it. I was too busying throwing up to stop you," Diederich said. That sounded exactly like something Vincent would do. Even the cannibalism part sounded like him. Vincent didn't want to admit it, but he thought the punishment fit the crime.

"It wasn't enough for you to take her from me, you had to eat her heart so she would never be able to give it to me in life or in death."

"Then why are you harboring me?" Vincent asked.

"Because, despite what you did, I still love you. And for what little I have understood of you, I know that you only did this because my harsh words pushed you to it. I promise I will spend the rest of my life trying to make up what I said to you," Diederich said. Vincent is the only guy who could knife someone's wife out of jealousy and then guilt that someone else into apologizing to him first.

"Shit, the police are on this train," Diederich muttered. He was listening through the sleeper car door. He had it opened just a crack, so he could hear people talking. He had a worried look on his face. Vincent looked at him with a worried expression as the cigarette fell out of his opened mouth.

"What do we do?" Vincent asked. Diederich moved the curtains and looked out of the window. They were rapidly approaching a bridge that went across a wide gorge by the sea.

"We jump."

"What?"

"Come here," Diederich said. He dragged Vincent out of the sleeper car and then they went to the space between train carts. They were staring down the gorge. It was massive, wide, and overlooked a little inlet from the sea.

"I thought you had a plan!" Vincent shouted over the sound of the train speeding by. His hair was blowing over his face and all over the place as he looked down. It was a long way down from the train to the surface of the water. Vincent never really had a fear of heights, but at the same time, he had also never been in a situation where he had to jump from a place up that high.

"This is the plan!" Diederich shouted back. Vincent could feel his own hand shaking in Diederich's steady embrace.

"I don't know if I can trust you." Vincent asked him.

"I'm jumping with you," Diederich grabbed his hand, and they jumped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trust issues man. So many, many trust issues. If you haven't already read it on tumblr, the intermission is posted there, along with a lot of other really awesome stuff so go on and check it out! :)
> 
> http://crossing-of-the-lines.tumblr.com/


	52. Remembering

They hit the water with a brilliant splash. Above them the train sped by with an alarming sound. Yet nobody from the train was looking out the windows to spy two young men swimming in the gorge. They were safe from he police that were looking for them. They were free for this moment in time, even though they were drenched. There was a price to freedom, and today thee price was how much their current clothing cost. Luckily, there was a little current moving and they could swim in it easily. Vincent wasn't sure where they were headed, but what he knew is that he was going to cling to Diederich. He grabbed onto the other mans shoulders and gripped his neck tightly. Vincent was pouting visibly and childishly.

"I hate your stupid plan," Vincent complained. They swam over to the edge of the gorge. Diederich and Vincent leaned against a rock, completely soaked in the water. Vincent knew his suit was done for.

"What now?" Vincent asked. He could feel a tinge of sarcasm in his tone of voice. He wasn't even trying to be catty, he was just a little bit, well, scared. His life now rested in the plans of a man who he didn't know as well as he thought he did. Someone he thought he could trust but couldn't. If Diederich couldn't hold his heart without letting him down, how well could he could hold Vincent's life?

"I don't know, but at least now those cops won't find us," Diederich said. Vincent felt part of his soul die as he held onto this man he couldn't trust for safety. Part of it made his throat ache and he felt sick and would look for any way out of this feeling.

A boat was passing by. A man with a ponytail was rowing a little row boat across the gorge. He wore a stylish suit and hat. He looked like a normal person just leisurely out for a nice day on a rowboat. He must have been surprised to find two strange men swimming out there wearing their finest suits, soaked to the core of their bones. Vincent was hoping he would be a nice guy. He could really use a ride to shore, so he could maybe buy some dry clothes and have a lunch, and possibly ditch Diederich somewhere along the way.

"Buongiorno," Diederich called out to the boat, waving one hand in the air.

"You speak italian?" Vincent asked. He never knew that, but it seemed like there were tons of things about Diederich that he didn't know about. Like the secret engagement.

"Why would I send us on a train to italy to hide if I didn't know italian?"

"Shit, I don't know, I'm just following you on this one. This all your plan. I didn't even know we had a plan until you told me to jump off a fucking train."

The man on the boat tossed over a life saver to the two and pulled them over to the boat. Vincent and Diederich carefully climbed into the row boat. Vincent shook his head but his hair was completely soaked with the rest of him. He had no hair product or anything to make it look nicer. He felt like a complete mess. It was not a good day for him.

"Hello, My name is Klaus," the man introduced himself.

"Thank goodness he speaks english," Vincent said.

"Maybe you could try learning something other than ways to pick locks?" Diederich asked Vincent. Vincent just gave him a dirty look when what he really to do was snarl.

"What exactly are you two doing stranded out in the bay like this. You two weren't doing anything illegal, were you?" Klaus asked.

"Oh nothing illegal, were you doing anything illegal?"

"Let's play a game called, let's pretend we were all doing legal things and nobody has any confessions to tell the police," Klaus said.

"Sounds like a great game to me. The name is Earl Vincent Phantomhive," Vincent said, introducing himself. He was trying to look smooth, but he was drenched from head to toe and his hair was all scruffled up. He could not possible look smooth in this situation.

"Diederich Von Wolf," Diederich introduced himself. Vincent wanted to hate him for looking so smooth and attractive when he was wet like that. It wasn't fair. Nothing about this situation is fair.

"Is there any way we could pay you to take us to shore? I have plenty of euros in my pocket," Diederich said. With that, he and Klaus took turn rowing the boat until they were at a dock.

It looked like there was a cozy little shore side town where they could hide at. Vincent followed Diederich like a lost kitten around the town. They bought new clothes and had lunch at a cute cafe. Vincent didn't say much of everything. His mind was in other places. They didn't speak, not even to formulate a new plan. Vincent just didn't feel like plotting at that moment. His mind felt like it full of static and the sound of crows cawing loudly. They were in a hotel. Diederich had booked a single room for the two of them, with one large bed in the center of the room. Apparently nobody found that suspicious, and Vincent found himself wishing they had just given them a two bed room instead.

"Perhaps I should leave," Vincent said. Diederich was taking off the finely tailored suit which was made for him that afternoon in a fine italian suitery. It looked great on him. Vincent felt like he was on a diet and Diederich was a plate of cookies laughing at him and telling him how stupid he was for believing that anyone could really fall in love with him.

"Why leave?" Diederich asked.

"Because I'm sure that you don't want me around, I'm just getting in the way, aren't I?" Vincent asked.

"Vincent, if I didn't want you around, then why would I go through this trouble," Diederich told him. Vincent didn't find his argument as convincing as the yelling he went through earlier.

"I don't know, because you want another occasion to break my soul apart?" Vincent asked him, and he hoped that he wouldn't be left vulnerable alone. He felt so alone right now, and it was the worst feeling in the world. To be next to someone you one believed to be your soul mate, to look at them and feel like you were completely lost and alone.

"Vincent please," Diederich said. He reached over to grab Vincent's hand. Vincent moved his hand away and started to undress.

He was dressed in his boxers, and Diederich wore nothing at all. Vincent looked out the window of the hotel and watched the moonlight over the beach reflect on the black waves. He covered his body with the duvet cover and laid in bed, facing away from Diederich. He tried to focus on the ocean, letting the soothing motion of waves distract him from the man sleeping next to him, sharing the same pillow even though there was one next to it. Diederich tried to put his arm around Vincent and hold him close but Vincent shrugged him off.

"I don't want to. I'm not in the mood," Vincent said. The tone of his voice was hollow, he wasn't feeling anything. He felt so empty inside, that he didn't have the heart to go on further. He felt so hollow. If someone tried to fuck him, they would be fucking air and lukewarm flesh.

Diederich rolled over to the other side of the bed, lifting his head from Vincent's pillow and sleeping on his own. They were now back to back. The last time that they slept like this, they were sleeping in a small guest house in the middle of the woods. A monster was lurking around, peering through the window with it's featureless, eyeless face. Now the monster lurking in the shadows of their hearts, was deep in the space that lay between them, the monster made of distrust.

"I always thought there was no place where I belonged. Now I realize that I don't belong to any place, I belong to you. I'm sorry for forgetting that," Diederich told him. He sounded solemn. Vincent let out a sigh and drifted off to sleep, wishing that he could believe what the other man was telling him. When he slept, his mind floated back to that black sand beach with the blank gray sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only Vincent could manage to fuck someone over by killing their fiance and still make the other person have to apologize for it more. I guess this where the part where Vincent is bipolar comes into play, isn't it? Now for some hype: Next chapter contains a scene which I posted a spoiler for on tumblr. People who follow this story on tumblr (crossing-of-the-lines) know what it is. Those of you who don't should check it out!
> 
> Now for some real talk: I've noticed and recognized tht the first half of this story has not been well paced at all. I've gone over and redone the entire plot outline for the second half of this story, by consolidating chapters and getting rid of any filler stuff. It should move by much, much faster, with a slightly different writing style. I hope that these improvements will please you.


	53. Trust

Vincent was back on that beach. He didn't feel like another eight hour long dream where he was walking across an infinite beach of infinite nothing. He felt the hot and humid weather. His skin felt sticky and the air felt moist. All of this awfulness and somehow it was greatly preferable to spending these moments awake with Diederich. He felt a stagnant breeze hit his arms and Vincent sighed. It was, what did the monster call it, the end of the universe? He sat down on the beach and kicked off his shoes and peeled back his socks. He rolled up the leg of his pants, stood and approached the water.

He stuck his foot in the water. The water was warm like bathwater and had a briny scent. It was opaque black like ink and left the ski non the bottom feet stained with a gray tint. The sand clung to the bottom of his feet like clay. This was the first time Vincent had even been to the beach to stick his feet under the waves that splashed gently across his feet. He felt himself sinking into the beach. He tried to lift his feet out of the black clay, but instead, he just sank further. He sank further into the sand until only his head was above the black clay and his body like it was being suffocated underneath it. The waves crashed over him and he tried not to drown. He let out a pained scream as he was sucked into complete blackness.

"Diederich!" he shouted and woke up in bed. Vincent was covered in sweat. He looked over to Diederich, who sat up next up to him with a concerned expression on his face.

"What is it?" Diederich asked.

"Nothing, just a dream," Vincent said. He laid back against the sweat soaked sheets that clung to his back. He was very uncomfortable. He stood up and and went into the bathroom.

Vincent stripped off his boxers and turned on the shower to the temperature of ice cold. He stepped into the ice cold shower. The water felt like needles pushing into his skin. It made him feel awake, made him feel alert, made his take his mind away from this. Once he was done waking himself up, he stepped out of the shower and toweled off his body. He was feeling restless. Diederich had already fallen asleep again. He walked out onto the patio of the hotel room and stared back out at the ocean. It only brought back the memory of his nightmare.

That day they had picked up a few more suits from the tailor. Now, Vincent had a working wardrobe to take with him as they were staying in Italy. Diederich had payed for all of it. He had with him a huge amount of cash, most of it still wet, but usable. People gave them weird looks when Diederich paid for things using wet currency. Vincent didn't ask questions. He was grateful that his cigarette case was waterproof or he would have never been able to get through this. They also bought some traveling luggage. They went out for lunch and dinner, which they ate silently together. When they got back to the hotel room, Diederich was looking rather upset.

"Vincent, can we please talk about this?"

"You made it clear to me that you don't love me, you just had a temporary bought of insanity that made you attracted to me. Our little tryst is over."

"I don't want it to be over, Vincent please, hear me out," Diederich say, or rather, pleaded, quite sadly. He sounded like a hollow, broken man, He sounded how Vincent felt.

"Even looking at you makes me feel depressed. You're just a big reminder that I'm fucked up and that I don't deserve love from anyone," Vincent said.

"Will you let me make a memory to replace that one?" Diederich asked. Vincent nodded and held back a sigh. He lit up an opium cigarette. He needed it now more than ever. If it didn't look ridiculous, he would have smoked two at a time. He really didn't want more memories, he wanted closure. He wanted that sad feeling that filled his chest to be gone and never come back.

They were on the beach. The sun had already set and the moon was on the rise. The early ones were in bed and the beach was empty. The night air was pleasant and balmy, but they sat alone on the blanket on the beach. They had a bottle of wine and a case of cigarettes and opium to share between them. Diederich had this entire thing planned. It sounded pretty romantic, but Vincent still felt so hollow that he wasn't sure if he was truly ready to appreciate the sentiment.

"What do you want?" Diederich asked him.

"Just fuck me up," Vincent said. He uncorked the bottle of wine and took a deep swig of it. He wanted to drown his fears and his heart break in expensive alcohols. Diederich grabbed his hand and kissed it softly.

"I love you, Vincent," he said. Vincent could feel the sincerity but he couldn't accept it. Not now, not with this pain that was welling up deep inside him.

"Prove it to me."

Vincent reclined on the blanket, with a head and stomach full of alcohol. He was buzzing and happy like a little dragonfly. Dragonflies were fluttering through the balmy air, attacking each other. The scent of the sea not far behind. It was a properly romantic occasion but Vincent felt hollow, save for the wine that was pumping through his rotten heart. Diederich kissed him on the neck. Vincent leaned back from the kiss and let the other man lay on him and use him like a pillow. Vincent stroked his brunette as thought he was a pet, like he was Vincent's pet dog. Vincent gently kissed him on the forehead.

"You're the only one who can do this to me," Vincent said.

"Do what?"

"Mess with my head. Make me fall in love with you from a single look. I hate that you can can break me and I still have feelings for you."

Vincent sighed. He was already hurting on the inside but another little indiscretion couldn't possibly make things worse than they already were. Diederich was already unbuttoning his jacket, then his waistcoat, then his shirt, than his trousers. Vincent watched him undress while taking long, drags of opium. He saw the statuesque body, fit to stand in a museum, strip off his clothing before him and he felt a little bit more privileged than usual. Vincent undressed himself, never letting his eyes stray too far from the prize. He was letting all of this happen and he wasn't sure why. It was his heart that was broken, the rest of his body was working exceptionally well, especially what lay below the belt line. If he was any more broken after this, he would only have himself to blame.

"You're so perfect, even when you're broken up like this," Diederich said and laid kisses across Vincent's naked neck down to his stomach. They were naked on the beach, their only company was the undulating seas, setting the romantic backdrop for yet another one of their illicit affairs. Diederich reached over and pulled out a condom and handed it to Vincent.

"You brought condoms?" Vincent asked. Of course he did. He was looking for sex. He wanted it to be impersonal, but he knew that he was giving his heart away.

"Of course, I know exactly how you operate," Diederich said. He straddled Vincent's waist, sitting on his lap like obedient dog. He was already hard. Vincent didn't need more than a few eye fulls of staring at his built chest and tough abs to get excited. This was the man he loved, still loved, despite all of the pain he had put Vincent thought. Despite all the pain Vincent put him through.

"It looks like you're getting yourself worked up, how do you think I'm going to give it to you," Vincent asked him, stroking his chest.

"Hard."

"Good boy," Vincent said, kissing him on the forehead softly. He laid back on the blanket and let Diederich sit on top of him. He was heavier than he looked, built entirely from warm muscle and many hours spent weekly on his insane exercise routines.

"I want you to fuck yourself. I want to see you beg for me," Vincent told him. Diederich got out the bottle of lubricant that he brought with him. He wouldn't be caught naked near Vincent without it, and he was a smart man for thinking that far ahead. What he did not consider, perhaps, was that, Vincent's fingers were quite dainty and almost delicate, and his own well, were quite larger, and therefore, brought on far more discomfort. While he was watching the show, Vincent slipped on the condom so that his piercing would not get irritated.

"Vincent please," Diederich pleaded. He was just about through with finger fucking himself just so Vincent could get off on watching him beg for something more.

"Hm? What is it?" Vincent asked, the tone of his voice soft and sarcastic, like he wasn't just totally fucking torturing the man on top of him and enjoying every second of it. Hell, they were both enjoying it. It was mutual couples bonding night, provided by wine, opium, and more than a handful of unresolved intimacy issues.

"Vincent please, I need you."

"Need me for what, love? Come on, I want to hear you say it," Vincent encouraged him. Vincent stroked his own cock, teasing the metal ring at the tip of it with a smirk.

"I need you to fill me up, please," Diederich begged, and she did so very genuinely. Clearly finger weren't enough for him, he needed something harder. Vincent grabbed a hold of Diederich's hips and pulled his sweet ass down onto Vincent's cock.

"Ah, Vin," Diederich moaned. He was writhing in place.

"That's not what we say, is it, pet?" Vincent said. He moved his hips with a sharp thrust upwards and Diederich let out a moan. It brought him back to center, reminded him that he still had questions to be answered while he was riding some choice dick.

"Ah, thank you, Vincent, thank you," Diederich said. Vincent had trained him to ride dick well.

"Move those hips," Vincent said, and slapped him hard on the ass. "You're my greedy masochist, aren't you?"

"Y-yes, I am yours."

Many fucking years in the future, Ciel was sitting in his office chair, his face agape with shock and horror. Sebastian was reading the red leather journal out loud to him, not skipping a single word. His pleasant voice did not falter He was having dinner at his desk, but the dinner was largely untouched. as he read the dirty detail of Ciel's father and his godfather having sexual relations. It seemed that Sebastian may have even took great pleasure reading the violent scene of sexual passion. He was smirking widely and proudly. Ciel wanted to slap the smirk right off his face.

"What the hell, Sebastian?! You did not have to read so much of it! Have some discretion!"

"I figured that while you were eating dinner, I would read you an educational story from your fathers handwritten memoirs," Sebastian explained.

"I can't eat dinner, not after that," Ciel said.

"My lord, might I remind you that you are of age, and well, you needed to have someone give you the sex talk. Thankfully, your father was here to give it to you posthumously," Sebastian said.

Of course he couldn't give Ciel 'the talk', as he was not human but Ciel didn't find Vincent's lurid diary of sexual conquests to be particularly educational. He wasn't told the finer points of human reproduction but still had a solid image of his father fucking his godfather on a beach. Congrats Ciel, you've officially become an adult reader. Ciel was clearly of age to know what sex was and how it worked, but it would have been better if he just discovered it on his own while looking through Bard nudie mags, rather than his fathers personal stash of journal entries and accompanying photographs. It could have been worse. He could have been given the discourse on wall sex that cut out of chapter forty-nine. Now, that was a perverted moment.

"Need I remind you that I am interested in Elizabeth?! A woman!"

"I happen to find Vincent's sex advice to be highly innovative. The man was a genius," Sebastian said. His expression held a certain amount of awe reserved only for demons and men whose had the hearts of a demon. Ciel was very sure in this moment that his father would have made one hell of a demon.

"He was perverted!"

"Your ideas are absolutely puritan. I pity Lady Elizabeth."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a feeling that I lost many readers along the way because of the high rating of this fic and the near-complete abscence of graphic male and male sex scenes. Since you guys have requested lemons for so long, for like 53 chapters, I decided to finally give you, my loyal readers, the ones who have stuck around for so long, the perfect lemon...bars. Yes. Lemon bars. These are packed with LEMON. Which is exactly what you all have been asking for.
> 
> for the bottom:  
> 2 cups flour  
> one cup butter  
> 1/3 cup sugar
> 
> for the top:  
> 4 eggs  
> 1 1/2 cups sugar  
> 1/4 cup flour  
> the juice and zest of six medium sized lemons
> 
> Preheat your oven to a warm and toasty 350 degrees (farenheit, not celsius, unless you want to be vincent phantomhive and burn your house down).
> 
> Cut the butter into the sugar and flour until it's nice and sandy then press it into a 13X9" pan. Bake this in the oven for about 20 minutes. Be careful not to overbake it on this first step. Then you want to let it cool down on the counter fir a bit.
> 
> Combine the ingredients for your filling with a whisk, then pour the filling over the crust and stick that back into the oven for another 20 minutes.
> 
> Dust it with powdered sugar if thats your deal. Let them cool down and ENJOY your lemon bars!


	54. martini

“Good morning, chaps!” Klaus greeted them.

“Oh shiiit,” Vincent hissed.

They were naked on the beach. Somewhere along the line, the blanket had gotten all fussed up and didn’t cover them at all. They were sticky, naked, and covered with nothing but sand in all of the wrong places. There was no good place for sand to be. Yet the sand was everywhere. It was a sandy nightmare. Not meant that the day was bright and sunny and they were, casually naked, their clothes discarded and rumpled beside them. An empty bottle of wine and a used condom were also scatted in the sand next to them. Vincent and Diederich looked at each other in horror. They had been caught, but thankfully Klaus wasn’t saying anything, or staring at anything. Vincent kicked the dirty condom underneath the blanket.

“I’m so very, very sorry you had to see us like this,” Diederich said.

“You had one hell of a party last night, by the looks of it,” Klaus said, “Wish I could have been there. In any case, I was wondering if you two wanted to go barhopping tonight.”

“You really don’t, it wasn’t much of a party,” Vincent said, “That sounds like a fantastic plan. We will meet up with you tonight. We should really go back in our room and get cleaned off.”

They made a mad, nude dash back to the hotel room. Diederich was carrying a pile of sandy, dirty clothes while Vincent dragged the blanket back to the room. The sand burned their feet. It was almost certain that at least two onlookers got an eye full of Vincent’s so-called fine ass. The thirty second long run back to the hotel room felt like it could have lasted an eternity. It was shameful and quite honestly, completely ungentlemanly. It was something reserved only for beasts. Yet for some reason Vincent really feel any shame, he mostly felt excitement. The sort of thrill of coming so close to almost beign caught, yet Klaus was oblivious to not recognize the obvious.

Well, that was humiliating,“ Diederich said.

"I can’t believe we slept in so late, or that so many people probably saw us naked.” Vincent said as he checked the clock. It was far past the morning hours. They had stayed in late like indecent beings. If Frances were here, Vincent would have never heard the end of it.

“We probably won’t go out for dinner until later, you want to take a bath together?” Vincent asked.

The hotel room had a very nice bathroom in it. There was a shower stall, just barely big enough for two people to squeeze into. (A thing very much worth investigating for another occasion.) Then there was a garden sized bath tub, complete with hot water and everything. This was a very upscale and nice looking bathroom. Goodness, the tub was even bigger than the tub in Vincent’s master bath and it was making him consider renovations when he got home. Best yet, there was even a pull out table.

“This pull out table is nice, I can think of like, fifty things we could do with this,” Vincent said with a cocky grin, turning around to face Diederich. He looked at Vincent with an expression of shocked and gawked at him.

“Damn it Vincent, stop saying perverted things all the time!” he said. His face was colored a pale shade of pink as he blushed.

“Get your head out of the gutter, I wasn’t imply anything sexual! We could have a snack, play cards, enjoy a nice glass of wine…and you immediately thought I meant sex, so who is the pervert now?” Vincent asked him. He was grinning a mile wide. He had finally gotten Diederich to show him his perverted side, the one that he would never, ever, ever, ever, ever, admit to having.

“You’re still the perverted one in this.”

Diederich ran the bath, nice and hot. He even added some lightly scented sea salt into the mix. Both of them climbed into the massive tub and let the water wash away the sand and grit that was stuck everywhere. Now it was just resting at the bottom of the tub. Vincent sighed and leaned on the side of the tub, enjoying the closeness to his partner in crime. He moved so that he was sitting on Diederich’s lap, taking up all of his possible attention. Vincent smiled to himself in delight. He was a like a cat that would simply take up all of the space and all of attention for himself.

“There is so much space and yet you choose to sit in my lap,” Diederich said.

“So I’m feeling a little more trusting with you, what of it?”

“Do you still doubt me?”

“This bath feels a bit nostalgic, doesn’t it remind you of something?” Vincent asked. The laat time they shared bath it was in a swimming pool size tub full of flowers. They had been completely oblivious to the cult’s attempts to kill them. Vincent wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to take a bath again without remember the gaggle of girls who giggled and blushed upon seeing them both in the bath tub. It could have been more scandalous, they could have been making out.

“A cult of deranged girls, what a bizarre choice in subject changes,” Diederich mused. Vincent splashed him and he let out a growl. Vincent laughed at him.

“Vincent, we need to talk about the plan,” Diederich told him.

“You know I don’t handle it well when I find out that you’ve been keeping things from me.”

“We need to keep moving. The plan is to move around the country, then eventually make our way to France, the back to England. By then, the police will have been done looking for us.”

“It sound more like you’re taking me on a honeymoon. Diederich, did you call the police on me just so you would have the chance to take me out on a romantic yet illegal getaway? That’s marvelously scandalous. Goodness, that’s something I would do,” Vincent said. He had a certain feeling of pride welled up inside of him for his partner in crime and other things.

“I also have a stake in not wanting to be caught,” Diederich explained, “I may have, in haste and rash decision making, signed myself to go into the german military and I’m currently AWOL.”

“What the hell?!”

“I was in a compromised state, and my parents need the money, and my family has a military background, and suddenly there I was, being signed up,” Diederich explained. His explnation did not make Vincent any happier. Of course he did it because of his parents. Diederich’s parents were quite possibly the worst possible influence on the man. He’d do anything if he thought that it gave his family a bit of honor, even when that family didn’t care about him and didn’t deserve it.

“Son of a bitch,” Vincent hissed.

“They’re going to find me eventually, so I figure by the time we are done playing keep away from the police and the military, I can go back and there will be less trouble for me,” Diederich explained.

“And then you can get your arms and legs blown off or be shot and killed during some war. Great plan. You know how I love staying up all night every night, worrying about whether or not the man I love is going to die horribly,” Vincent told him. He looked rather pissed off.

Vincent stood up and got out of the tub. He was feeling hurt and defensive again. Just when he thought that things between them might have been getting repaired, Diederich goes and pulls that bomb on him. Vincent couldn’t understand a man who would fight for his family’s honor when his family had done nothing but make him feel inferior his entire life and back stab him when it suited them. A family that had no problem selling him to the highest bidder with a sham marriage. They didn’t deserve Diederich to be part of their family. At least Vincent, for all of his faults, actually cared about him. He should have killed the Baron and Baroness Von Wolff like he killed his own parents when he had the chance, and now he would never have the chance. They would have to wait for them to die of natural causes. What a pity.

“Vincent,” Diederich said. He climbed out of the bath.

Vincent went into the walk-in shower stall. His mood had turned sour and now all he wanted to do was wash his hair and get ready for what remained of the day ahead of him. Diederich followed him like a dog into the walk in shower stall. There really wasn’t enough room in that stall for two people. They were pressed together skin against skin. Vincent turned on the shower and then turned around to face Diederich. They were both shivering underneath the water until it turned warm.

“What?” Vincent asked him.

“I’m sorry, can I make it up to you again?” Diederich asked, His expression seemed sincere enough. Vincent was willing to let let this go if he could get an apology.

“I’m listening,” Vincent said.

“You don’t need to,” Diederich said, before kneeling down before Vincent. He gave him something way better than some apology.

They got dressed for the evening in yet another collection of tailored suits. Diederich brought a ridiculous amount of cash with him, enough to pay for seventy custom tailored vacation wardrobes, though thankfully, as long as they kept off the beach, there would be no use for that. They ordered room service for a brunch and dinner like it was nobody’s business. Diederich tipped the bell boy extra because he didn’t ask why such a large amount of food was being ordered for just two people. Or why two men were staying together in a hotel room that had only one king sized bed. Obviously, it wasn’t to save money.

They met up with Klaus in front of the hotel, thankfully, not at the beach in the back of it. He looked in good spirits. He was dressed well, his hair tied back in a tight ponytail underneath his hat. They ere they were, three guys on a wicked vacation, dressed to the nines and ready to hit the town for some good ol fashioned mayhem, They all had already consumed dinner so it was time for drink,s drinks. They started off with a nice little night club that wasn’t far from the hotel. It looked like a classy place to bring tow noblemen too. Nothing sleazy at all. Outside of the bar was a sign written in cursive’ quindecim’. The inside of the bar was all very modern and sleek in design. There was an aquarium on one side, and a massive crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Couples were dancing on the dance floor, and groups of people sat in comfortable royal blue stuffed chairs smoking and drinking.

“So an italian, a german, and a english man all walk into a bar,” Klaus said, as they approached the enterance to the night club.

“And my dog says-” Vincent interrupted.

“Don’t you finish that!” Diederich told him.

“Why do you call him your dog? That’s not some kind of sexual thing is it?” Klaus asked. The three of them made a beeline directly to the bar where they sat down at the bar.

“What would you like?” asked the bar tender, he was a young man with platinum blonde hair and a serious looking expression.

“A beer, please,” Diederich said. Spoken like a true man of his country.

“I would like a martini,” Vincent said. Spoken like a man who wanted to get fucked up.

“A glass merlot would be fine for me,” said Klaus. Spoken like a man who was probably classy enough to go to a nightclub like this.

“What? No. Never. I would like, never have sex with him as I am a married man,” Vincent explained. He lifted his hand to show off his wedding ring. As though that totally stopped him from having sex with Diederich. It really didn’t. “My wife is really hot by the way.”

“Glad to hear it, whats your type, Phantomhive?”

“Blonde hair, big blue eyes, average sized tits,” Vincent explained Rachel’s appearance in the most objectifying way the he could muster.

“I’m a bit partial to redheads myself, What about you,” Klaus asked.

“I uh… well. I certainly do enjoy the company of the feminine type,” Diederich said in the least convincing way possible.

“He just got out of a really tough engagement,” Vincent said, patting Diederich on the thigh. He waved at the bartender.

“Could I please have another martini?” he asked politely. It was going to be a long night.


	55. Introducing: a new member of the family

It had been an entire year since the last time Vincent's shoes had hit the ground of his home in England. One year of hiding. One year of growing. He felt like he was a different man than he was when he left. As he stepped from incognito to into his old life, his time in hiding had felt like a dream. One year gone to a dream. A fantasy. It was also like it had never happened at all. At least Vincent had a cavalcade of pictures to act as evidence that yes, all of that stuff happened. It was real. The feeling of love was real, and so were the duties that he had ignored for a year. A year of cases which invariably went elsewhere, a year of time he did not spend with his family. He spent them out there, tripping across Europe with the love of his life. He almost never wanted to go back home, but he had to.

Vincent approached the Phantomhive manor in his new clothes. His hair had gotten just a bit longer, like he hadn't been cutting it regularly enough whilst he was on the run. He walked down the massive long drive way. The last time he was here felt like it was an eternity ago. Diederich was following him with their luggage. Finally they approached the Phantomhive manor and for the first time in practically forever, it felt like Vincent was home. He knocked on the door three times. Tanaka answered the door with an expression of happiness on his face.

"Master, you're back!" he said, almost too happy. Vincent smiled back at him.

"Rachel, Frances, I'm home!" Vincent shouted. He shouted so loud that he could hear the echoes coming off the walls of his manor.

"I'm afraid that Rachel has been staying with the Midfords," Tanaka informed him.

"Why on earth would she stay with them?" Vincent asked.

"Frances invited her to live with her and Alexis while you were away," Tanaka explained. It was for the best, in any case. He had been gone for long and it was truly unfair to expect Rachel to live by herself all the time at this lonely estate.

"I can't believe Frances got married when I wasn't looking. This is so like me. I would like to go to the Midford estate now. So I can tell her I am equal amounts offended and proud of her," Vincent said. Tanaka simply bowed before him.

"The carriage will be ready shortly."

The travel to the Midford estate wasn't a long one, yet Tanaka had taken the time to prepare a tea platter with extra sandwiches. Something about this felt nostalgic. Something about this made Vincent want to immediately run off to live the rest of his life on the lam. Something about spending all of that time in an artificial paradise made him feel more calm, more mature. So in that moment ,he decided to stay, just because it was his responsibility, and because he really missed Rachel, and his sister, and hell, he would even admit to missing Alexis. Diederich sat next to him eating sandwiches and they enjoyed the ride there in calm, peaceful quiet before a storm would certainly erupt.

"Frances, I know you're here..." Vincent said.

If the Phantomhive estate was large, then the Midford estate surely made it look like a country bumpkin affair. Everything about the Midford estate was shiny, gilded, and far beyond even the Phantomhive expense. Frances did a great job in picking her future husband, and she didn't even care about or pay attention to his wealth. Frances arrived to greet them at the front door, carrying a baby in her arms. She was wearing a simple, loose fitting dress made of ivory colored linen. The baby was swaddled in a white cloth, wrapped up like a human burrito. He had a little tuft of blonde hair and big, green eyes just like his mothers. It reminded Vincent of a distant memory of his own sister being baby, and Vincent, being just a curious little man. The baby made no sounds, he was as quiet and well behaved as a young man ought to be. Reminding Vincent, yet again, of his always primly behaved younger sister.

"What is that?" Vincent asked curiously.

"My son, and your nephew, Edward Midford," Frances explained.

"You got married to Alexis and had his child while I was gone?!" Vincent asked. He wasn't really that surprised. After all, he did threaten to kill Alexis on more than one occasion. Not a real threat, just a little play threat. To see if he was really in love with Frances or not.

Clearly, they were in love. They were a young couple, Alexis just got out of school to become a father soon after. It was almost like looking at a story out of some fairy tale book. As they played in the yard as children, Frances would always say that she wished to be a princess. That some day, she would find her knight who would let her escape from the Phantomhive name. Back then, the doom of their disgusting parents hung over them like an inescapable barrier. Now it seemed like all of her wildest day dream have become reality. Vincent could say that he was jealous. That Frances got to marry her knight, while Vincent could never marry his.

"And where were you, Vincent, hm? Off somewhere hidden with that lover of yours while I had to not only prepare a wedding, but explain to the queen that you were hiding out after you got caught murdering some broad in germany?" Frances asked him.

"Let's call it even," Vincent said.

"As if," Frances said, "Just for this I let Alexis pick the godfather of our child."

"Is it me?"

"Of course not. Congratulations, Diederich, you're officially a godfather," Frances said. She handed Diederich the baby. He looked down at baby Edward with an uncharacteristic smile on his face. Edward made some cute baby noises. Alexis soon walked into the parlor to see Diederich holding Edward.

"He's precious," Diederich said. It was his first time holding a baby, and he did so with shaky hands, as though he was afraid that he might harm him. He was about as gentle and he could possibly be, a privilege which Diederich had afforded to literally nobody else.

"Cute as button, isn't he? He's just like his mother," Alexis said with a goofy grin. Vincent felt a little moment of pride in Frances. She had picked the exactly right man to be with. Vincent could just feel the love radiating from Alexis, his devotion and care for him family was obvious. In a way, Vincent was a little jealous. He could never have a marriage like that.

"Can I hold him?" Vincent said.

"Of course," Frances said. She was beaming with pride for her little Edward.

Vincent held tiny Edward in his arms and stared down at him. It was in this very moment that Vincent realized something which he wished he wanted. He wanted to be with Diederich, all of the time. Like a husband, but more than that, he wanted a family with him. He wanted to be able to have everything that Frances had. It made his heart ache not only for himself, but for his lover, and for his best friend. He had created life with Rachel, then neglected it. Then he had gone on this massive whirlwind of a trip that lasted for almost year. It was like getting his hopes up for future with Diederich that he could never possibly have. It was just him faking his way through life when what he really wanted was something real. He was wishing for something impossible, something he could never have.

Rachel walked into the room. The aura of the entire room had gone from a happy bright pink, to a dark and dusty tone. She was not happy to see Vincent, In fact, she let off a dangerous aura. She was pissed as hell. Goodness, she had every right to be pissed as hell. Vincent of course, could acknowledge and accept it, but he could also still be afraid of it. "Well if it isn't my idiot husband, come back here after leaving me alone for an entire year," Rachel said. "You know some people would have called for a divorce after a stunt like that!"

"You knew I was a killer when you married me," Vincent said. He held up baby Edward and showed the baby to Rachel. "Rachel, he's so cute. Look at him."

"I've seen him many times, because I've been living here," Rachel explained. Her voice took on an acidic, dry tone to it as she glared at Vincent through lowered eyelashes.

"But he's so adorable!" Vincent protested.

"Yes Vincent, babies usually are."

"I want one," Vincent said. He didn't realize he had said this until the words slipped out from his lips. He really wanted a baby. Someone to love unconditionally as a parent. Someone to protect from everything.

"It takes two people to make a baby Vincent. You're going to have to make it yourself."

"Rachel, I'm sorry for the whole running off thing, but it was really my only choice. Between that and getting arrested for murder," Vincent apologized. Rachel's expression told him that this apology would have to be followed up by several more apologies before they even got close to having a baby.

"You have me to thank as well," Frances told him. "Who do you think went before the queen and apologized for your sudden disappearance?"

"Rachel please come back home with me," Vincent said in a pleading tone. He wanted Rachel to be back home so that the cold Phantomhive manor actually felt like home instead of an empty house. He didn't want his wife staying over at his in-laws while she was upset with him. Vincent would rather have her upset with him at home.

"You're not going to run off again, are you?"

"I promise I won't," Vincent said, and he meant it.

Vincent and Diederich were laying in Vincent's massive bed together. Despite it's huge size, they took up less than half of it when they were sleeping close together. Vincent had his arms wrapped around Diederich. They laid together there in silence, neither of them were entirely sure what to do. Vincent didn't want to go to sleep. He wanted to stay there, silently, tenderly, and forget about the world that existed outside of his bedroom. He wanted to close his eyes, fall into a deep sleep, and wake up in a world where Diederich didn't have to leave in the morning. It wouldn't be the first time that Vincent wished for something impossible.

"I'm going to leave for Germany tomorrow, and turn myself into the authorities." Diederich said.

"I will miss you so much, I don't know how I will stand it," Vincent said, embracing him. He kissed him gently on the forehead, then on the lips, then on the neck.

"I'll send you letters when I can," Diederich promised.

"I'm afraid that you won't love me anymore when you come back," Vincent said. He stared up at the canopy of his four poster bed. Diederich laughed beside him.

"Could you pick something a little less ridiculous to be afraid of?" he asked Vincent.

He thought it was funny but Vincent was serious. Is this what their relationship came down to? Not another break up, but instead something very long distance. Diederich out in the fields, doing things he could never speak of. Vincent in England, doing similar things. They were still in the business of killing, but unfortunately, they were not in this business together any more. Vincent thought about ho lonely the investigations would be without Diederich and he wanted to weep at the thought. Killing in a pair was difficult enough, but who would be Vincent's moral backbone for all the times where he needed someone to balance out his craziness?

"Before you leave, one last time?" Vincent asked. He gave Diederich 'that look' which often translated into the 'perverted' look. The look that he gave Diederich when he had sex on the brain. Which Vincent didn't, by the way, sex was no the main goal in this escapade. The goal was to feel some intimacy for the last time before a period in which Vincent knew he would be feeling lonely.

"Vincent you can not be serious," Diederich said with an exasperated sigh.

"You won't have another chance in a long, long time," Vincent said.

"Alright fine," Diederich said. It didn't take much to convince him into Vincent's bed. Vincent got out of bed and dragged out a box from underneath his bed.

"Now that we're back home, I've been meaning to use this," Vincent said as he pulled out a long line of red silk rope. He grinned widely at Diederich. "Feeling intimidated?"

"Not at all," Diederich said. Of course, his inhibitions were greatly lessened by the fact that nothing that happened would ever need to leave the room.

Breakfast was far more quiet than the night that had preceded it. They sat together at the Phantomhive family table. Rachel said nothing, as she was still pissed at Vincent. She ate her breakfast quietly and took the time to give Vincent an angry stare down a few times. Vincent accepted it with unusual grace. He admitted that he had earned it, and accepted his fate that he would have to do an awful lot to make up for it. He sat across from the table from Diederich, who ate like someone who had nothing on his mind but food, but Vincent knew better. He knew his ass was probably still sore and bruised, and that he would have a little souvenir to remind him of last night for at least a week, if not longer.

Vincent went with Diederich on the carriage ride towards the train station. Vincent sat next to him quietly, reading a book as Diederich looked idly out the window to view the english countryside. Vincent thought this would be the last time his partner saw this country in a long time. Vincent wanted to lock him up in the prison cell underneath the manor. The same one he was subjected to as a child. He wanted to keep him there forever like a pet dog that could never leave it's master's side. Yet Vincent had matured enough in his year long vacation to know better than this. Instead, he sat in silence.

"I love you so much," Diederich said. He pulled Vincent close and kissed him on the lips. He had a tight grip on the collar of Vincent's shirt and didn't let go until Vincent was breathless and his collar was rumpled out of shape. He pulled back for a second and kissed Vincent on the lips again, this time biting down hard on his lip.

"Until I see you again," Vincent said, hugging him tightly.

 


	56. Like A Marble Statue Coated In Blood

It was four years later when Diederich showed up in England again. He had shown up in the dead of the night without calling or sending a letter first. It was a rash decision that he made the very, very second that he could get at least two weeks to not have to be within his home country. Tanaka must have surely greeted him at the door, or someone let him in, because there was no such thing as breaking and entering into the Phantomhive manor. Either that or he would have had to walk through a forest full of bears, then face the home security, then scale up the wall and through Vincent's locked bedroom window. All without making a sound. Even Diederich wasn't that great of an athelete, but he did manage to sneak into Vincent's bedroom, undress and climb into bed without waking up Vincent.

Vincent woke up to the look of his lover next to him. At first he assumed that it must have been a dream but when his paramour's lips brushed against his, and his arms held Vincent close, he knew it was reality. Diederich looked just ever so much more built than the last time Vincent saw him nude. He was sporting a few new scars on his body, in places Vincent would not have imagined, There were fading bruises on the tips of his knuckles. Vincent didn't want to know or care about why. He could not imagine the bloodshed this man must have seen. Vincent embraced Diederich tightly and kissed him on the cheek. "You make me feel like I'm living in a some kind of paradise again, you know," Vincent said. The tone of his voice was soft like the silk sheets they were laying on.

"I haven't slept on a bed as comfortable as this in months," Diederich said, "I'm not used to sleeping in after sunrise either."

"Well, welcome to heaven sweetheart. You can sleep as much as you like but I doubt we'll be sleeping very much. How long are you going to be here?" Vincent asked.

"It's an open ended thing. I'm not sure if I will get more than a couple of weeks."

"Oh who the hell cares, I'm so happy you're here," Vincent said. He pushed Diederich down onto the mattress and laid on top of him. "I missed this."

"I missed it too," Diederich admitted.

"I have an idea. Let's get breakfast then we can have some sex," Vincent suggested.

"Great idea," Diederich said. He must have really been desperate to agree to one of Vincent's advances like it was nothing. Vincent guessed that the military didn't leave one with many outlets for sexual frustration at all.

They walked downstairs to have breakfast in the dining room. Rachel was already up and half awake, hovering over her cup of coffee. Vincent was wearing one of his plush robes. Diederich was wearing another one of Vincent's robes, a large 'v' was embroidered on the shoulder of it. Rachel wore a dressing gown and a pale pink silk robe. She looked tired, as though she hadn't slept well the night before. She looked up from her coffee and stared at the two men as they sat down at the table.

"When did you get here?" Rachel asked.

"Last night."

"I woke up and his fine ass was in my bed. That's the best way to wake up, isn't it?" Vincent said. He was positively beaming. Of course he had stayed up late the previous last night reading, but seeing his lover there in the flesh rather than in his imagination set his heart a flutter.

"If you say so," Rachel conceded, and got back to eating her breakfast.

Tanaka approached Vincent and Diederich. "It appears that you have a letter from the queen," Tanaka said. He handed Vincent the letter, the crimson sea loaf the royal house was displayed brazenly. Vincent almost winced as he hands touched the white paper. For a second he thought the red seal represented bloodshed rather than royalty. Vincent opened the letter. He read the letter quickly while taking the occasional sip of his white tea. Immediately his hopes for some good sexy times were vanquished.

"Well, what do you say, Diederich, let's take a rain check for some loving and start off on this case?"

Diederich was sitting in an alley way. He had been shot in the shoulder by a gunman. He had gotten away but he had stumbled and fell down. The pain was so intense that he could not get up. He knew that he was bleeding a lot, and that Vincent would just be there momentarily. He hissed in pain. A tall woman wearing heels and pants approached him, her long red hair swayed back and forth as she walked towards him. She was carrying some kind of weapon that he had never seen before. It looked like some red box, attached to a blade.

"Ah, there you are," she said in a falsetto. "Diederich Von Wolff. Aged 25. Died of blood loss as a complication to a gunshot wound," she said. She was thumbing through a small black leather journal curiously, staring down at hi in a condescending fashion. As if she had any right to speak to a man of his status in such a manner! She wrote down something in her journal before tucking it into the pocket of her black coat. "Well, aren't you handsome, such pale white skin covered in that lovely vermillion. You're like the holy god Adonis! Such a shame to see a good looking man like you go to waste." the blood red haired woman said.

Diederich stared up at her. She had these insane, lime green eyes and these sharp, pointed teeth. She was almost human-like in appearance, as though she was parody of a human. Something that used to be human, yet not quite. Something about her countenance unsettled him. She pulled a little tab from the weapon and suddenly the vile thing sprung to life. It had this inescapably loud, irritating noise. It was like deafening cry of death. Diederich tried to move away from her but he could not stand. Instead, he tried crawling away from her like a kicked dog.

"Get away from me," he hissed.

"Now, now, don't be so cold! I am inescapable, I am death~!" she cheered, almost too happy.

"Not today, bitch!" Vincent shouted. He kicked her in the back, spinning her around to face him. He punched her square in the face, breaking her glasses. Vincent stamped his foot on the glasses and ground the lenses into the dirt. The woman swung her buzzing weapon at him but he ducked each of her advances with ease. She was completely useless without her glasses. Vincent laughed as he dodged all of her hits and kicked her firmly in the stomach. The woman doubled over in pain, dropping her weapon to the ground. He ran over to Diederich.

"Dee? Dee are you alright?" he asked.

"I'm hurt, Vincent, please," he said. He tried to stand but he stumbled and fell to the ground. Vincent lifted him up and carried him over his shoulder. Diederich was a lot taller and heavier than Vincent, it took all of his strength to hold the man in his arms. Vincent staggered to the place that was closest to his current location, not a hospital, but to the home of a certain mortician.

 


	57. Consequences

Vincent knocked on the door of the funeral home loud enough to wake up the dead people inside of it. Diederich lay against his shoulder, Vincent was barely able to hold him up. It was a long shot that the kooky old mortician would be able to help him. It was a long shot that Diederich would make it out of this. It was the only shot Vincent could take. He had to run away from the scene of his case, likely bombing the entire thing, but he’d rather face the queen’s wrath than face a world in which his lover was no longer beside him. He would rather listen to an unquestionably insane madman mock him and deride him, and that took so much will power and love. It was at least two in the am and the street was completely deserted. The lamp inside of the undertaker’s shop was out.

“My, my, Earl Phantomhive, come to get a casket?” Vincent would let that comment slide in interest of his partners survival.

“Please help him. He’s injured,” Vincent pleaded as though his own life depended on it. 

“Come in, come in, no need to raise suspicion with the neighbors.” Undertaker said this as though his neighbors were not already suspicious of him. Right. Undertaker took Diederich in his own arms The skinny man was able to lift the taller, and much more well built man as though he weighed nothing at all. Blood from Diederich got all over Undertaker’s gray sash but he seemed to be totally not bothered by it. Vincent followed Undertaker past his spooky little shop front and into the apartment upstairs. There was a simple bed, and a dresser, and not much else. Vincent expected it to be dark and dingy but it was actually kept clean.

“Well, he’s been shot,” Vincent said.

“Clearly,” Undertaker said as he undressed Diederich. He did so with a type of tender and gentle touch reserved for people restoring old marble statues. Diederich was cold and pale like snow. He did not respond to the touches, he was probably not even fully conscious at this point. If he was, then there was  no way he would be letting Undertaker undress him. Vincent was almost happy that he couldn’t put up a fuss at this point.

“Well, sorry to tell you there Vinny, but it looks like he’s about to die at this point.” Vincent let out a sob. He could not face the possibility of such an outcome or suppress that twisted expression of fear and pain on his face.

“Now, now, don’t get your knickers in a bunch boy, it just so happens that I am not your normal, every day undertaker,”  
  
“Clearly,” Vincent said. Undertaker had been helping him cover up murders for years and somehow always knew the latest scoop when it came to illicit activity.

“I’ve been working on ehm, a pet project, to lets say, commit acts against humanity and challenge the very laws that govern our universe.”  
  
“And? How does this help me when my lover is dead?!”

“I can bring him back to life, all it takes is one of these!” Undertaker said, and his death scythe materialized. It looked like what would be expected of a grim reapers scythe. It was a massive scythe, far too ornate to be cutting wheat with. At the end, was affixed a skeleton with a wreath of thorns fashioned around its head. It looked like the skeleton of the holy jesus christ. Vincent let out a surprised gasp.

“What the hell?! You’ll finish him off!”  
  
“Stand back and trust your ol’ pal Undertaker,” Undertaker said, brushing Vincent aside. He lifted the massive death scythe over his head. The tip of the scythe was nearly touching the ceiling of the bedroom. Then, Undertaker plunged the scythe into Diederich’s chest. Yet, it did not cut him open. It seemed to is materialized inside of him, glowing a vibrant, white light. Vincent tried to see something but saw nothing but this white light that filled the room. It appeared to only have lasted a few seconds before Undertaker withdrew the scythe to it’s normal form. The light was gone, Diederich was unharmed by the scythe.

“Alright, that bought us a little bit of time, now his cinematic record won’t run dry while I do this experimental test.”  
  
“Cinematic what?”  
  
“I’ll tell you later, give me your arm.”

“Ouch! What is that tube for?”  
  
“Well, the life force of the human body is blood, so putting blood from a living human into him might bring him back. Or it might kill him a lot faster. I’ve had so-so success with this,” Undertaker said before he performed the blood transfusion.  

“There was this really tall woman, well, horrible man woman. I think it was a woman. She had this incredibly long red hair and freakish bright green eyes. She had on glasses and this bizarre foreign weapon. It had a red box at one end and a moving edge affixed to blade. It made this terrible whirring sound,” Vincent explained the woman that he had seen to Undertaker. Undertaker acted as though he had seen stranger things on a daily basis, and he probably did. He casually took a sip of tea from a beaker, enjoying Vincent strange tale of how his partner had ended up in peril.

“Chainsaw. That thing you are describing is a chainsaw, go on,” Undertaker said.

“She had this notebook with her,” Vincent said. He took the book out of his pocket and handed it to him. Undertaker opened the book and flipped through the pages with a grim looking expression on his face. He looked gravely serious, the goofy grin normally affixed to his face was replaced with a frown. He dropped the beaker to the floor.

“Shit, do you have any idea what you’ve brought into my house?!”

“Well, I guess you don’t. I shouldn’t have yelled. The point is Vinnie boy, I ain’t human. I was, at some point but after a certain point, I got roped into his grim reaper gig. You see, what we are,” Undertaker said, lifting the bangs from his eyes. His eyes were that haunting shade of bright lime green. A type of almost shimmering chartreuse with a second limbal ring around the middle of the iris. Undertaker blinked, his white eyelashes fluttered softly. Vincent had a hard time looking away from them. The eyes were so other worldly that he almost felt hypnotized by them.

“Are grim reapers. We can’t see too well without our glasses. We reap souls day in and day out as some sort of sick punishment. They say it’s to stop demons from eating human souls, but I don’t believe ‘em. Every once in awhile you get someone like me who kicks that old shindig and deserts the force. They’re going to come looking for this record, Vincent. It contains everyone on that reaper list to die. When they do, they’re going find me, and I can not have that happen. I will not go back.”  
  
“Hide out at the Phantomhive manor. I’ll take over here.”  
  
“Really? Does this mean I get to play house with that gorgeous wife of yours?” Undertaker asked.   
  
“If she wants to, why not? But before you go, I need to make sure Diederich is safe and I want to know more about grim reapers and what you did to keep him alive.”  
  
“Every soul has a cinematic record attached to it. When they die, the record stops. Then a grim reaper come in and cuts the rope, so to speak. What I did was make sure that the record didn’t hit the finish line. It gave me a few moments in which to revive him, but he would have died. I also got the chance to completely review his cinematic record and let me tell you Vinnie, you’re quite the lover”

“You saw…everything?”  
  
“Everything your dog has seen or done is in his record.”

“You can’t tell anyone about us.”  
  
“I am well aware about the human attitude towards homosexuals. I always knew two had something going on anyways,” Undertaker said. He said human attitude as though it wasn’t his attitude. Vincent had already had a little gruff encounter with him, but never thought much of it afterwards. He pondered if a god of death could truly be a sexual being. After all, an avatar of death going through the motions of procreation seemed ironic.   
  
“Well, fucking surprise, we’re in a very committed relationship,” Vincent said.   
  
“That’s not the only thing you are.”  
  
“What do you mean by that?”  
  
“I shouldn’t be telling you this but I guess since we’ve opened up the rabbit hole of knowledge in here it doesn’t matter anymore. Certain souls, such as your and your paramours, are bonded from their creation. Think of it that you’re soul mates and it’s likely that you have been together in every possible life time, and will continuously reincarnate until you reach a sort of, romantic equilibrium,” Undertaker explained.

“So what you’re saying is that we’re destined to be together…forever?” Vincent asked.   
  
“I supposed if you want to make a generalization, then yes,” Undertaker said.   
  


“I like the sound of that.”

“Of course you do, you’re a possessive control freak.”  
  
“No, I’m not!” Vincent protested. Freak, maybe, possessive maybe, but he did not have control issues. Diederich was his dog, of course Vincent would have control over him. It was only natural.   
  
“Don’t try and pull that on me! I just saw the cinematic record.”  

“You look tired Earl,” Undertaker said.

Vincent was a rumpled mess of fatigue, and emotional shock, and an after glow of relief. Vincent stripped off his coat, his gloves, his waist coat, and his shoes. He stood before Undertaker in quite the vulnerable and undressed state. It was too late to go back. Undertaker had already seen the best and worst of him in Diederich’s cinematic record. Vincent could not hide a thing from his preternatural gaze. Vincent laid down on the bed next Diederich. There was barely enough room for the both of them. They were kind of smashed together but Vincent had to admit he enjoyed this kind of intimacy. Undertaker sat there and watched the both of them with a curious expression. Vincent looked up at him and sighed.

“You’re a strange one, Earl,” he muttered under his breath.


	58. Taking Death Hostage

There was a knock on Undertaker’s front door. Undertaker looked at Vincent, and looked down at the street through his bedroom window. He wore a black suit and glasses. He was likely to be another grim reaper. He looked down at a young man who was knocking loudly and rudely on the door. It was first thing in the morning and Vincent had not slept well. Rather, he had been plagued with terrible nightmares and Diederich kicking him all night. Then Undertaker was snoring as he slept in the chair. It was a huge mess that led to the typically pampered Earl not getting of his much-needed beauty rest. Thankfully, Diederich was still sleeping peacefully on the bed. Undertaker was looking new and refreshed like he had slept a thousand a thousand years.

“Well, Vinny boy, this is where I take my leave,” Undertaker said. He raised his arms in the air, gave his hips a little wiggle, and with that he had disappeared from thin air. Vincent wanted to ask him if that was a reaper thing or just another one of Undertaker’s many eccentricities. Meanwhile, the young reaper was still knocking on the door. Vincent ran downstairs in a hurry. Undertaker’s suddenly skedaddling only solidified the possibility that the reapers were back for Diederich’s soul.

“I’ll be out in a minute!” he said. He could hear the young man sigh from outside the door.  With that, he ran back upstairs. He stripped off his own clothes and borrowed a set of clothes from Undertaker’s closet. He even slipped on a pair of Undertaker’s thigh high boots, which felt snug and tight against his legs. They also made him feel taller. The only problem was that he could not walk well in the stiletto heels. He clung to the railing of stairs as he tried to walk down then wearing Undertaker’s high heels. He was stumbling like a drunken sailor on christmas eve.

He saw the young man. The bright green eyes immediately gave it away that the boy was in fact, a reaper. He could not have been any older than nineteen or twenty years old. He wore a fashionable suit and a watch that even Vincent would have considered expensive. He was a young man of excellent taste. He wore white, modern shoes as well. On his side, he had a little gardening scythe, something not nearly as intimating as Undertaker’s grand but morbid scythe, or the woman’s roaring monstrosity of a scythe.

“H-hello… My name is Ronald Kn-knox of the Reaper Dispatch Organization,” he stuttered and looked down at his book. Vincent was not impressed.

“We have tracked the signature of a death record belonging to a Miss Grell Sutcliffe and-” this was was all the young man got in before Vincent hit him upside the head. He fell to the floor in a clatter. Within moments, Vincent was beating him upside the head until he was unconscious and clearly must have had a thorough concussion.

After that, Vincent had located some ropes in a broom closet. He tied up Ronnie in a bondage position. He was laying on his stomach, with his wrists and ankles tied together behind his back. Vincent had to admit that he was proud of handiwork. Superhuman or not, there was no way that Ronald was getting out of this one. Vincent inspected his personal belongings.  He confiscated his glasses, a small gardening scythe that was strapped to his waist, and another leather ledger. Vincent skimmed through Ronald’s ledger. Most of the pages blank or had to do with people the already died. He took out Grell’s death ledger. Her’s was entirely full, and most of the pages were scribbled with  red ink. The things stated were likely a morbid game of ‘hot or not’. The page of his lover had the words 'mega hottie’ scribbled with big, bold, red letters. Vincent’s face turned and even brighter shade of red in anger.

“What the hell is going on down here? Why is this young man tied up? Why are you dressed in Undertakers clothes?” Diederich asked. 

“We’re having an s&m party! Just look at these kinky boots!” Vincent said. He pulled back the layers of coats to reveal the thigh high boots that he was wearing underneath it.

“OH HELL NO WE ARE NOT!” shouted Ronald.

“Can you even walk in those, or are you wearing them so you can finally feel taller than me?” Diederich asked.   
  
“Keep snarking and I’m calling over Undertaker to put the bullet back in your shoulder,” Vincent said. It was at this moment that he noticed that Diederich was not wearing a shirt. He was only wearing bandages wrapped around his chest. It immediately made Vincent’s thoughts turn dark.

“By the way, the warfare has really sculpted you. I want to oil you up and eat grapes off your naked chest,” Vincent said.

“Hey hey hey! I am still here!” Ronald said. Vincent kicked him just for interrupting his perfect little come on. He was such a nuisance. Vincent wasn’t really sure what they wee going to do with him.

“You’re lucky I don’t put you to end with your own death scythe,” Vincent threatened. Ronald stayed quiet and still, though Vincent could notice him shaking with fear.

“Hey Vincent, Undertaker actually has grapes and olive oil,” Diederich joked. He was busy raiding through Undertaker’s kitchen. For a creepy guy whom Vincent had never seen eat anything but tea and bone shaped cookies, he had a lot of fresh fruit in his kitchen. He also had a really nice coffee maker. Most morticians couldn’t afford the kind of stuff Undertaker had, much less ones who only accepted laughs and jokes as payment. Vincent found himself wondering what blood money was paying for all of this.

“I work with perverts. I’ve been beaten and kidnapped by perverts. Is there a part of my life where I’m not surrounded by perverts?!” Ronald lamented.

“Shut up, or I’ll stuff your mouth with something you won’t like!” Vincent said.

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you told him last night, isn’t it?! You are just like Sutcliffe!”

“Who is Sutcliffe, your boss?”  
  
“Technically, yes, and she is every bit as insufferable as you are, but she’ll be looking for me,” Ronald warned them.

“Bring it on. I know a reaper’s real weakness,” Vincent said, as he took Ronald’s glasses out of pocket and waved them in front of his face. “Now, did Sutcliffe send you here?”  
  
“Sutcliffe told me to track her down her death record and bring it back to her, since her glasses got broken last night and they were till being repaired this morning,” Ronald explained.

“Does Sutcliffe have long red hair and look like a man woman?”  
  
“Woman. Grell Sutcliffe is a woman.”

“What the hell kind of name is Grell?” Diederich asked.  He was eating grapes and sitting at the couch, his feet perched rudely on top of the coffee table which was really just a repurposed coffin.

“Doesn’t matter,” Vincent said. He took an apple out of Undertaker’s cabinets. He walked over to Ronald and shoved the apple in his mouth. He took another length of rope and tied it around the apple, securing it tightly to the man’s face. Ronald thrashed and cursed through the fruit.

“He looks like you’re about to roast him,” Diederich said.

“We could always have a little fun and spit roast him,” Vincent said. Ronald thrashed. 

“Save that joke for Undertaker, he’s going to want some serious payment,” Diederich said.   
  
“Speaking of these guys, I should explain you whats going on. To put it shortly, Undertaker is on the lam from these grim reaper guys, and is probably busy bothering Rachel and Tanaka right now, then there’s the other grim reapers who also want to reap you because you were supposed to die but didn’t. Also, according to this one reaper’s book, you are a 'super hottie 10/10’, and the kid down there is one of the reapers. They can’t see for shit without their glasses so as long as we go for the face we should be alright in fighting them.” Vincent explained. He handed Grell’s death record to Dietrich. Diederich flipped to the page with his name on it. All over it, was scribbles about him being hot. It made Diederich want to throw the damn book into the fire place. Vincent could see him scowling at the book. He popped open a bottle of Undertaker’s oldest wine.

“Drink up, you need it,” Vincent said, pushing the bottle towards him.

“Please, I’ve been in more pain than this before,” Diederich said. He took the bottle of wine and took a long, long swig from it. Then another. He passed it to Vincent, who did the same. They passed it back and forth until the bottle was empty and their heads were full of cotton and alcohol.

There was a knock on the door. Vincent stood up from the couch and stumbled on the stiletto heels over to the door. He opened it casually and look a look at who was there. One of them was the tall, crimson haired woman. Her red glasses were taped together at the center and one of the lens was cracked. Next to her, was a taller, handsome man with combed back black hair and strong features. He wore a classy black suit, carried what appeared to be a hedge trimmer, and a scowl on his face. The taller man offered Vincent his business card. Vincent took it. It read 'William T. Spears, Reaper Dispatch’ along with a telephone number.

“Let us in, we are here on important business, Earl Phantomhive,” William said.  

“Alright then,” Vincent said, opening the door to undertaker’s shop and inviting them both in. Grell gave him a dirty look.

“That’s the ruffian who punched me in the face and stole my death ledger!” Grell said, she put her hand on her  hip and pointed accusingly at Vincent.

“Incapacitated by a mere human, Grell I am ashamed to be of the same species as you,” William said. He took a look over at Ronald, who laid bound and gagged, hog tied with an apple in his mouth. His was like a little pig who had been capture by the wolf. William let out an exasperated sighed and looked at Ronald directly with his cold, green eyes. “You, intern Knox, I expected better of you! What are you doing, laying there and being bound by a mere mortal? You will be receiving a long write up on your performance tonight. There was no reason why you could not have retrieved the death record on your own. There is no purpose to this ridiculous position you’ve landed yourself in.”

William’s pruner shot forward from his hand and quickly and precisely sipped off the ropes that bound Ronald. Ronald spat out the apple and stood up, stretching out his joints with loud cracks.  “These are mad men, Mr. Spears!”   
  
“I don’t care if they’re escaped from the bloody asylum, they’re human beings! You shouldn’t have needed two senior officers to come and retrieve you,” William scolded Ronald as though it was his own fault that Vincent had assaulted him. Vincent swore that he could start to see tears forming in the eyes of the young grim reaper.

“Is this what you need?” Vincent asked, holding up Grell’s ledger. William tried to use his death scythe to grab for it, but Vincent pulled it out of his reach.

“You fool! That contains proof that you’re harboring someone on the to-die list!” William hissed. His temper seemed to be at it’s very limit.  

“And now…” Vincent said, and tossed the ledger into Undertaker’s fireplace, “It doesn’t!” Grell’s death ledger was now in flames and was burning. There went any evidence that Diederich was about to die. Any evidence that he had been revived using some possibly illegal magic means was erased by fire. Grell and William both looked at Vincent with an expression of shock and disgust. He did not care to respect their organization when it stood in between him and his lover.

“My ledger! That goes out of my salary you know!” Grell shouted.

“You don’t know what you’ve done!” William exclaimed.

“You don’t know what you’ve done,” Vincent said. His soft brown eyes had a glint of madness, in them, no perhaps it was possession. He was showing off the twisted man that lay beneath the shining veneer of a gentleman. The all black clothes only furthered his appearance of a wild man on a binge of mayhem. He pulled his pistol out of the robe, “You have stepped into the personal life of the Queen’s Watchdog. What did Lovecraft say, again? In strange eons, even death may die? Welcome to the strange eons, because you three aren’t leaving this place alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to be as honest and as transparent with you all as I possibly can.I have a lot of chronic health problems and dealing with them has been tremendously difficult. It’s been hard to fit writing fanfiction in my life that is all work and dr’s appointments. 
> 
> All I can say for sure is that ‘crossing lines’ will be my last fanfiction and until it is finished, I will be putting it on a hiatus from posting. When I finish writing and editing it, I will post chapters every week. Until then, I’ll still do questions and drabble meme things when I can to keep you all entertained. :) 
> 
> http://crossing-of-the-lines.tumblr.com/  
> So check out the tumblr!


	59. chapter 59

“ _I wake up and I creep_  
down the hall to your feet  
where I lay like a dog for you  
I will always come to you  
when I’m weak and empty”  
I.S.W.M.U.O.N.M.W.N.- Nicole Dollanganger

William and Grell bared their death scythes towards Vincent. Vincent had his pistol drawn and was pointing it directly at Grell. Two sets of inhuman lime green eyes were focused on him. William withdraw his telescopic hedge clipper scythe, Grell had her chainsaw revved. There was hardly enough room for all of them in Undertaker's small living room. Diederich sat where he was and let Vincent fight for his honor. He was still too injured and still in too much pain to fight back the literal incarnations of death itself anyways. Vincent however, was ready to ironically put it, fight to the death, against death, in the name of love. Or something cheesy like that shit anyways.

“Stand down,” William told him.

“Fuck off! This is personal!” Vincent shouted and shot Grell in the arm.

Grell dropped the chainsaw. It hit the floor and stopped it's loud roar while Grell was inspecting her wound. William's death scythe shot forward, knocking over several of Undertaker's morbid knickknacks. Now it is was personal on both sides. Vincent dodge William's scythe and shot at him. William was able to dodge the bullet. Vincent kept shooting and William kept not being shot. He avoided each bullet by millimeters, the closest bullet grazed and scuffed the arm of his black suit.

“And you assume that you haven't made it personal to me?” William hissed.

Vincent shot him on the hand but he held onto his death scythe with a firm grip. Blood dripped from his hand onto the floor and William looked positively livid beneath his black glasses. He shot the pruner towards Vincent who dodged it, wobbling on the stiletto heels. Immediately he regretted this particular fashion statement. Two gun shots rang out, and both William and Grell were down on the knees, clutching their stomachs. Grell coughed blood onto the floor and looked up at the assailant.

“Undertaker keeps a rifle in his kitchen cabinet,” Diederich said. Of course he did.

“How did you get to be such a good shot?” Vincent asked him.  
  
“The military changes a man, Vincent, and you're a bit rusty, you haven't been practicing lately, have you?” Diederich said, scolding him lightly.

“Alright, so I haven't, but we're both clear out of this.”  
  
“Don't count me out, you brute!” Ronald shouted. He lifted up William's scythe and went after Vincent. Diederich shot him in the chest, he fell backwards on top of William and Grell. All three of the reapers were a in bleeding pile of gun shots wounds.

“You might have magic but we have bullets,” Vincent scoffed arrogantly.

“Oh please,” Grell said and spat out a bullet. William coughed out the bullets that were lodged in him. Both of them stood up, bloodied and tired. “You can't kill death,” Grell said and let out a shrill laugh. Diederich shot her in the chest again.

“Will you two just fucking stop it?! You're going to run out of bullets eventually!” Grell shouted at them.

“Humans will do anything to save something, so why the three of you just up and leave and be grateful that the watchdog let you live?” Vincent asked them snidely.

“Perhaps, we can...come to an agreement. Clearly Von Wolff is not dead, despite supposedly being dead, and I highly doubt a man such as yourself was sophisticated enough to revive a corpse, and I don't sense a single demon around here, which means that in a report I will write that there was no demonic activity and that it was likely, a mistake in the booking. Upon further investigation it showed that Von Wolff was in perfect health and the original death ledger had been accidentally burned by an ignorant and grossly misinformed human being,” William said.

“And you, Phantomhive, are the worst human being that I have ever encountered in my many years of being a grim reaper,” William told him. Diederich nodded along with him.

“Glasses has a point,” Diederich said.

“It's Suit, not glasses,” William corrected him and readjusted his glasses with the tip of his death scythe. He marched Grell and Ronald out of the Undertaker's shop, leaving Vincent and Diederich standing alone in silence. Vincent bewildered by the lack of death, and Diederich weary with blood loss and in pain from the bullet wound.

After a proper trip to the hospital where Diederich's wound was properly and inspected by a doctor, they headed back to the Phantomhive manor. Things around the manor seemed eerie. There was a miasma of a feeling that made the hair on the back of Vincent's neck stand up. Undertaker must have still been here. Vincent would only imagine it now. Undertaker would be an absolute terror of a guest. The manor would in shambles. Rachel would be buggered until she lost her mind, he'd probably torture her with lame jokes until she got pissed off and hit him with something. Tanaka would be made into a slave, poor poor Tanaka. Vincent would have to give him a 'dealing with Undertaker' bonus this month. Vincent entered his manor expecting hell to break loose, instead it was quiet and peaceful.

In the green house, Rachel and Undertaker were having tea. Vincent couldn't believe what he was seeing. Undertaker acting and functioning like a normal human adult, even though he not normal, human, and possibly not even an adult. Could there be limits of adulthood? The man had to be hundreds of years old. It was then that Vincent realized that Undertaker was wearing his favorite houndstooth print suit. It didn't even fit him right! Vincent and Diederich looked like idiots wearing blood stained from the previous night's shoot out to a tea service. Still, they sat down at the table like nothing was different. Diederich grabbed a sandwich from the platter.

“I'm not even going to ask what you two were doing,” Rachel said. She looked their bloody selves up and down and looked back down at her tea cup, and took a pensive sip.

“Dee got shot and I got into a fist fight with the grim reaper, who happens to be a sodomite,” Vincent said.

“It's nice to see you meeting your own kind,” Rachel said, taking another sip of tea. Vincent felt offended that he'd be put in the same category as that horrible whatever-it-was. There was nothing that would phase Rachel any more. There was nothing Vincent could say that would get more than a sarcastic comment out of her. She didn't even seem worried about him. It was almost heart breaking, really. She could at least ask whether or not it was his own blood on his clothes.

“Fist fight? With the red headed eunuch or glasses?” Undertaker asked.

“Both of them and their shitty intern, also at one point, I contemplated borrowing your olive oil and going all greek wrestling with Diederich,” Vincent told him.

“When I said, don't do anything I wouldn't do, that's one of the things I wouldn't do,” Undertaker said. Vincent wasn't so sure that he believed that Undertaker wouldn't do something kinky. He seemed like the type who has probably fucked someone in his custom coffins as payment at some point.

“I also borrowed your kinky boots and hogtied a cute blonde twenty year old in your living room,” Vincent explained with a grin on his face. Rachel face palmed and looked with Vincent with an expression that read, are you fucking kidding me right now?', and no, he was not.   
  
“Is this a normal amount of gay on your weekends or were you just living it up at my house?” Undertaker asked curiously.

“No, this is normal for him,” Rachel interrupted.

“We didn't do the grapes and olive oil thing though,” Vincent said, “I figure we can just do that tonight, right, Dee?”

“Actually, I was planning on staying here another night....” Undertaker said, “Since Rachel and I have become such good friends spending time together.”

“Seriously Rachel? This guy doesn't creep you out at all?” Vincent asked.

“He's not any more creepy than you are,” Rachel said, beaming. She patted Undertaker's shoulder with a type of familiarity Vincent was not expecting. Undertaker wrapped a single amr around Rachel's shoulder, his hand rested on her shoulder. His black nails strummed her shoulder lightly. Rachel acted like it was the most normal thing in the world, when most people would have been highly offended by being touched by a man so bizarre.

“Well, whatever, Diederich and I will be in the opposite wing on the manor,” Vincent said.

“Let me finish this sandwich first,” Diederich said. He had finished his first sandwich and was working on another.

“Fine, eat your sandwich,” Vincent huffed.

That night, Vincent was laying on a bed in a guest room of the manor. For some reason, Rachel had been adamant that she wanted to sleep in the master bedroom. As a result, he and Diederich were sharing a much smaller bed than they expected. It was snuggly and cozy. Vincent was wearing his nightshirt and Diederich was wearing a pair of black shorts and his bandages. They covered his shoulder and wrapped around part of his chest. They looked clean from the outside. Vincent was certain the bullet wound was going to leave a nasty scar. Vincent noticed a few scars that weren't there four years ago when Diederich was nearly fully undressed.

“How are you feeling?” Vincent asked him.

“I'm in pain but I don't feel a fever or infection coming on,” Diederich said.

“Why don't you smoke some opium with me, love? It will take the pain away.”

“It always fucks with my head,” Diederich said.

“Well let me be your guide into fuckery, hm?”   
  
“Alright, alright, I'm only doing this because I can tell that you're actually worried about me, though you really don't need to be,” Diederich said.

Vincent already had the opium out before Diederich could finish his sentence. He had packed the bowl of the pipe with the off white noxious powder. Vincent lit his lighter and set the powder a blaze. He took a deep inhale from the pipe and passed it to Diederich. Diederich took a long and hard drag from the pipe and passed it back to Vincent. He let out a harsh cough as the acrid smoke filled his lungs. They went back and forth, smoking opium in bed together until they were both far past sober. They were at that twilight hour between night time and awakeness, stuck in some sort of of limbo past sobriety but not quite to the point to a coma. Vincent kissed Diederich tenderly.

“I've seen so many terrible things since I've been gone,” Diederich said.

“You received that medal of honor, didn't you?”

“It cost me a lot more than act of heroism. Hardly anything I've done could be considered heroic. Vincent, I can't tell you about it, but I've been traveling, doing detective and spy work. I hate it. I hate how many people I've killed, some of them for the most petty of reasons,” Diederich said.

“You can get through this,” Vincent said. He wrapped his arms around his lover and pulled him close. Vincent kissed him on the lips and the neck gently, tenderly, in a way that was so uncharacteristic of him. He was not motivated by his typically over-charged libido, but he only thought of comfortating his lover and himself. It had been so long since they had this time together. Vincent wanted to make a treasure of it, before Diederich would inevitably be off to go somewhere else. 

“I just hate it so much, I'm tired of the blood shed, I ask myself, am I really helping anyone except for myself?” Diederich asked.

“Let's not go down this road of self hatred. Let's just get high,” Vincent said. What they both needed was a good distraction. He took a long drag from the opium pipe and kissed Diederich, exhaling the smoke the smoke into his mouth. When they parted lips, a cloud of smoke surrounded them both.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important notes from the vampire: I know that Vincent refers to Grell in terms that are politically incorrect and show an extremely dated and hypocritical opinion of transgender individuals. His opinion of Grell and her sexuality is not the opinion which I hold.


	60. chapter 60

_To my journal, let me share with you the greatest day of my life. The day in which I looked into the eyes heaven for the very first time..._

It was a classical cliche of a dark and stormy night in December in the year 1875, and that year had a particularly harsh winter. The wind was whipping around outside like the howls of the devil himself. Diederich was sitting in Vincent's smoking room and they were sharing an opium cigarette. Vincent's dog, Sebastian was laying down peacefully and sleeping at his feet. Suddenly, his ears perked up and Sebastian looked over towards the door, his tail wagging happily. There was a soft knocking on the door, three times for Tanaka. “You may come in,” Vincent said. The butler entered the room with a bow.

“The midwife has informed me that the Lady of the House is going labor, my lord,” Tanaka said.

Vincent was overcome with a sudden feeling that overwhelmed. He was overjoyed that his future child was going to make their debut in the world, and then he was scared for Rachel's health. Her pregnancy had not been an easy one. She was plagued harder than most women with violent morning sickness. She had been through several asthma attacks during, and her breathing always seemed a bit wheezy. They had spent the last trimester of the pregnancy in paranoia that something bad might happen to Rachel, or worse, the baby. Diederich followed him on the long walk through the hallways. The world seemed completely silent and still. They approached the room in silence.

“It would be improper of me to see Lady Rachel in such a state,” Diederich said, breaking the heady silence that pervaded their time. He stood vigil outside of the bedroom door. Vincent nodded and took in a deep breath before entering the room.

Rachel was sitting up in the bed. Her face was in a pained expression and she breathed heavily. Her breaths went in and out like collapsing machinery. She looked at Vincent with this expression that meant, 'this is all your fault'. She wasn't wrong. He got her into all of this. In a fit on anxiety, Vincent instantly thought of everything bad that could happen. He had made the mistake on reading about child birth and pregnancy and it put him on edge every time that Rachel so much as let out a wheeze. That the cord could suffocate the baby. He stood by her side and knelt next to the bed. Rachel grabbed tight onto his hand in a state of abnormal intimacy between them. This is what lovers were supposed to do ,but they were friends. Vincent couldn't be the man she needed right now, so he faked it. So much of his life seemed fake.

“She's doing well for her condition,” the midwife said. Rachel hissed and suppressed a groan of pain. Vincent could hear her trying to hold back the pain she was in.

“She'll be fine, right? Is this normal?”

“Her asthma complicates things, Earl Phantomhive, but she has gotten this far into pregnancy and it doesn't appear to be a breach birth so-”

“Vincent!” Rachel yelled. She grabbed tightly onto his hand, tight enough to break it.

“If you want I can give you more opium to dull the pain, but due to your asthma, giving you chloroform would be too dangerous,” the midwife suggested.

Rachel nodded enthusiastically and the midwife got out a medicinal syrup to give her. Rachel gratefully rank down an entire shot glass of it. Vincent glanced at the label on the medicine. Heroine, opium, laudanum, all things that he consumed on a purely recreational basis were the only things now stopping his wife from killing him. The religious nutcases said that the pain during childbirth was god's punishment to women for the sins of Eve. In this moment, Vincent wanted to wring the neck of every single man out there who said such a thing about women. In this moment, he guessed that Rachel mostly wanted to kill them too.

“The baby is crowning,” the midwife said. Rachel let out a scream of pain and the midwife got to work delivering the baby.

During this time, Vincent mostly kept his eyes closed. It was hard for him to watch his best friend and wife go through this type of pain. When he opened his eyes, the midwife was washing the afterbirth off of the baby boy. Vincent could see a tuft of blue gray hair much like his own, and a pair of vibrant blue eyes staring at him with a defiant look. It was in this moment that Vincent knew this child would grow up to be someone special. In a minute, it felt like horrible deed that Vincent had done in his life so far had been absolved. He felt like he was staring into the eyes of heaven, and heaven was staring back at him. He felt this feeling of warmth and love unlike any feeling he had ever felt before. He wanted to hold onto this child never let go of him. It felt like he was staring at his own salvation. The baby did not cry as he was swaddled in a blanket and tucked into Rachel's arms by the midwife.

“I think I know what we're naming him,” Vincent said.

“Please elaborate for me,” Rachel said. The medicine was starting to kick in. She was clearly high off her rocker. This meant that Vincent could name the baby whatever he wanted, which he fully intended on doing.

“Ciel.”  
  
“Seriously, he's going to grow up to be a queer like you if you name him that.”

“His name is Ciel, I am the Lord of this household and if I say Ciel, it's going to be Ciel,” Vincent told her. His tone was resolute. Nobody was going to dissuade him from naming his child after heaven, no matter how ironic that may turn out to be, given that he would be born into a life like Vincent's.

“You're takin' advantage of the fact that I'm incompaci-paci... what ever,” Rachel said. Vincent took Ciel from her arms and opened the door to the bedroom. Diederich was still standing outside of the door, like a loyal dog.

“Dee, I want you to meet my son, Ciel,” Vincent said as he held Ciel in his arms.

“He has your looks,” Diederich said. Ciel looked up at them with big blue eyes, then closed his eyes again. He was such a tiny little boy. He couldn't have weighed more than four pounds. The bundle Vincent held in is arms was more blanket than baby.   
  
“No, this child looks exactly like Rachel,” Vincent said.

“I heard that! Vincent, a new born baby looks like a lumpy red potato. Are you trying to tell me that I look like a lumpy red potato?!” Rachel asked him with an indignant tone.

“No,” Vincent said. He couldn't come up with a clever quip that wouldn't get him smacked upside the face with the damned umbilical cord. So he instead said nothing at all. Ciel let out a little cry.

“I need to see Ciel,” Rachel said.

“I never want to let him go,” Vincent said.

“He's hungry and he needs to eat. Now give me the damn baby Vincent or so help me,” Rachel threatened. Vincent carried Ciel back to Rachel.

“I'll give you your privacy for the rest of the evening,” Vincent said.

“Good. You can continue fawning over the baby in the morning,” Rachel said. The midwife stayed by her side, checking her temperature and feeling her pulse. Vincent closed the bedroom door behind him. Diederich was still there waiting by the door like a loyal dog waiting for his master.

“That was so intense, but Dee, I think I'm in love,” Vincent said. “He's just so perfect and small! He's like a portrait of me, if I still had my innocence.”

“Congratulations. I'm happy for you,” Diederich said, wrapping one arm around Vincent's shoulder. He gave Vincent a small kiss on the cheek.

Vincent and Diederich retired to the bedroom where Diederich was staying. Vincent was going to spend the night with him just because he could and because he needed the support. There was something nagging at the back of Vincent's mind the second that Ciel let out his first real breath. He had thought of it before, that horrible thought, but he always pushed it to the back of his mind. Now it was crystallized, sparkling at him, making him grow tired and weary. He obsessed over it, giving it the power to completely overwhelm him.

“I'm scared,” Vincent admitted the second that he closed the bedroom door, the very second in which they were gifted this moment of privacy and intimacy.

“Of what?” Diederich asked as he unbuttoned his jacket.   
  
“Being a terrible father. What if I abuse Ciel like my father abused me? What if I just snap one day and then all of the sudden my kid is being locked in a cage, forced to live on the edge? I could never forgive myself if I hurt him, I already love him so much,” Vincent said. He voice cracked as he spoke. There were tears welling up in the corners of his eyes.   
  
“Look at me, Vin,” Diederich told him. Vincent's gaze met the other man's, tears were falling down his cheeks. His face looked red and hot. Diederich undressed him slowly as Vincent cried.   
  
“You are not going to hurt this child. I know you. I know how much you love him. Goodness knows, I could never compare to him in terms of how much you love him. You trust me, right?” Vincent nodded. He trusted Diederich with his life. “Then trust me that I trust the good in you. There may not be a lot of it, but I know whatever good is hiding in that dead, black thing you call a heart is dedicated to fathering this child.”

Diederich was wearing his black shorts, Vincent was wearing nothing but a nightshirt that barely crept below his hips. The tears were staring to dry up on his cheeks. Diederich kissed him on the lips softly before climbing into the bed next to Vincent. Vincent wrapped his arms around Diederich. Diederich took a moment to kiss his tear-stained cheeks. Vincent sighed deeply, the nights events tired him out, and he was feeling weak and vulnerable. “Only you are allowed to see me in such a state,” he said an an exasperated tone. It was always Diederich who was the witness to the worst parts of him, the weak parts of him, and still he stayed anyways. He was loyal to a fault.

“Why do you stay with me, even when I show you the ugliest parts of myself?” Vincent asked him.

“Because I love both the good and the bad in you.”

He felt so fractured. There was the Vincent Phantomhive that encompassed his private moments, the moments where he was a husband, a lover, and a father. That part of him that was capable of caring about others. That was capable of love. Then there was the half of him that lacked empathy. The queen's watchdog, top assassin. Psychopath. Professional killer. Sadist. The kind of man who would brutally murder someone just for looking the wrong way at his lover. The kind of man who would kill someone with the flick of the blade. The kind of man who had to sleep with a weapon because he made so many enemies. He felt like he was torn into two halves, one good and evil. Vincent wasn't sure what half was the true Vincent Phantomhive anymore.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the birth of everyone's favorite (or least favorite) sociopath. It only took what, sixty chapters for Ciel to finally to make into his father's journals.


	61. chapter 61

this outline covers chapters 61-99.

**Murder Mystery Arc/ Skin Walker Arc**  
Egolikeness

Vincent throws a party aka everything goes to hell within a few fuckin hours.

The party takes place over a weekend, meant to be a conversations between the leaders of the underground.  
Ciel stays with the Midfords because this shit place isn't safe for the kiddies. It's not a family friendly kind of party but not *that* kind of party* (make klaus have a joke about it being that kind of party)

Invites Klaus, Undertaker, Lau and Simon Brigsby, a weapons smuggler who is new to the area. Under the guise that it is meant to be an invitation to him to start his business and get to know the others. In reality, Vincent is probably going to kill him.

Vincent plans on ditching him outside in the woods for the bears but it starts to rain and nobody wants to go outside. Rachel suggests she tries out one of her homemade poisons on him.

Lau and Vincent catch up. Vincent explains that Diederich is on a case in France and can't be there.

Ran Mao greets Brigsby with her ample bosom. Brigsby runs off to his room.

They have a dinner together and retire to the billairds room for some drinking and card games. Brigsby excuses himself to the restroom.

They are playing cards when a scream is hard. Brigsby returns from the bathroom.

Brigsby is found dead in his room. Completely torn apart, as if mauled by some kind of monster. Says it's impossible because Brisgsby was just in in the room playing billiards and had followed them to the room. They realize that Brigsby isn't Brigsby. Brigsby takes the form of a monster and runs off down the hallway to somewhere else in the manor. He moves to fast to be seen easily.

Everyone comes up with a password.  
Vincent: diederich  
Rachel: ciel  
Tanaka: ganbare  
Lau: shotgun  
Ranmao: seaweed  
Klaus: martini  
Undertaker: chloroform  
Vincent gathers the weapons. Ranmao and Lau brought their own. Rachel takes the rifle. Klaus and Vincent take pistols.

Everyone gathers in the room, announces their password They break off into teams. (homestuck reference) Lau, RM, Klaus are team Charge while Undertaker, Rachel, Tanaka and Vincent are team Scourge. They take one end of the manor each.

The power goes out leaving everyone to carry candles with them. Vincent holds a candle for himself and Rachel.

They talk about stuff, especially Ciel. Vincent suggests sending him to Weston. Rachel objects and that he should spend time at home because he's sickly and weak

Undertaker offers to give Ciel an appreticeship. Rachel shoots him down metaphorically.

They head upstairs, and Vincent hears crawling sounds like the scittering of a giant fucking spider. Vincent and Undertaker lead the group.

They face the monster. A monster with a body like a spiders with six legs and a four-horned goat head with massive teeth dripping blood. Everyone says their passwords. The goatman lets out a cry that sounds like a thousand cats being tortured at once and skitters down the hall. Rachel shoots at it and misses a few times. Then the sound of metal hitting flesh and the strong stench of death is smelled.  
It crawls out of the shadows towards them. Rachel keeps shooting it despite Vincents protests that it's already dead.

Team Charge runs upstairs, sayin they heard gunfire. Rachel is still shooting the beast and panting heavily. Vincent wrestles the gun away from her.

Klaus laughs and tells Vincent that he throws the best parties.

The rest of the weekend goes along fine. Ciel comes from the Midfords happy and with callouses on his hands from fencing training with aunt frances. He's really not in this story very much because the author doesn't like kids or writing about raising them. toboso can do that.

**Vampire Arc**  
Kamijo

There are several cases of women's bedrooms being broken into by what they say was a male figure. The male figure drained them of blood until they fainted. Or they wok up anemic and tired with punture wounds on their neck. It escalated when a woman vanishes in the night, leaving behind nothing but a blood stained pillow case.

The leading theory is a satanic cult of blood letters, or people collecting blood for human experimentation.

Diederich is on holiday for a month, joins Vincent in England just to be brought into another case. He mention that similar cases were happening in Germany, Italy, and France, which he has newspapers for because he owns houses in these countries.

The three of them attend the opera in London and stay at Vincent's townhouse. At the opera, a sauve looking man with a heavy french accent introduces himself to Rachel and buys her a bottle of wine for them to share. His name is Camille Augustine. He hits on Rachel, calling her "my dear" and "honey" in front of Vincent.

Vincent takes Diederich aside and they decide unanimously that Augustine is incredibly gay. That he is basically a brunette version of Viscount Druitt.

The next day, Rachel goes out shopping with Augustine, Vincent stalks them the entire time. They shop together like two women. Vincent calls Rachel a fag magnet because fuck political correctness.

Augustine says he must leave to head back home to France but implores the three of them to join him at his villa, mentioning that it is near Paris and they have tons of fun there.

Vincent and Diederich don't want to go but Rachel insists on going so they join her because neither of them trusts Augustine because he gives them bad vibes.

Vincent doesn't trust him enough to bring Ciel, leaves Ciel behind with Tanaka to take care of him. Ciel is happy and calls Tanaka gramps. Ciel promises to be good and that he won't snatch an extra piece of cake.

Augustine brings them to his villa, which is more like an austere castle. It looks slightly run down and very, very old. Older than any of the surrounding houses. The inside is lavishly decorated by many candlabras, old tapestries and red velvet curtains. It is gothic in appearance Augustine introduces them to his brothers that live in the castle. The are similarly femme and share his taste in dandy looking clothing. In the castle opening there is a portrait of a woman who looks exactly like Augustine, Augustine says that is his grandmother, Carmilla Augstine when she was young.

Vincent and Diederich enjoy some time alone in Paris again, and have some sexy times in the huge bath tub in a hotel room while Rachel and Augustine go dress shopping.

Vincent and Diederich decide to explore the manor, since they seem to have no servants and the brothers are nowhere to be seen. Rachel and Augustine were occupied, off doing something or another. They eventually end up in the wine cellar. Diederich notices that there is a trap door in the cellar.

It gives Vincent a bad feeling (call back to his childhood) and Diederich comforts him.  
They descend down a spiralling stairscase that seemes to go on the forever, the walls begin to appear dank and as if they were carved out of the stone by hand. The iron railing turns into nothing but stone wall.

Diederich and Vincent talk about Augustine. Diederich comments that Augustine has a bizarre accent when he speaks in french and that he and he and his brothers speak differently than what is normal. Vincent brushes it off.

They approach a long, hallway lit by torches that leads to what looks like an underground mauselouem. in the middle, there is an empty casket. Vincent freaks out and says it's vampires. That Agustine is the one draining girls of their blood. It's obviously vampires and Augustine is one and is going to get Rachel. Diederich tells him to calm down, that vampires aren't real. They get into a rather loud fight about the reality of vampires.

Suddenly one of the drawers of the mausoleam opens, one of the brothers, with crazy curly black hair and bright yellow eyes and massive fangs glares at them both and hisses at them, baring full fangs, tells them to shut up because some people are trying to sleep, then prompty shuts the stone door. Vincent and Diederich hightail it the fuck out of there.

Vincent tries to hunt down Rachel in Paris. he and Diederich manage to track them down from dress shop, to teahouse, to Augustine's apartment in Paris. Vincent and Diederich break in to find that Rachel, Augustine, and several of the brothers are involved in an orgy. Vincent notices that Agustine has large breasts, and the brothers were all actually women in drag.

Rachel tells them to get the hell out, but Vincent and Diederich makes themselves at home in the apartment until their orgy is over and they come out of the bedrrom wearing matching robes. Rachel is shown with a bloody puncture wounds on her neck and bruises.

Rachel has known that Augstine was a vampire and a woman the entire time and was letting her drink blood from her because vampire saliva contains a venom that creates intense sexual pleasure. Rachel had been sleeping with Augustine regularly since they first met. Rachel says its the best sex she ever had and none of this would be happening if Vincent could throw her a decent fuck now and again so she wouldn't have to cheat on him with the first man (or woman dressed as a man) who gave her a bit of attention.

Camille Augustine is actually from New Orleans, Louisiana and is named Carmilla Augustine. After meeting a new friend, an eccentric novelist named Viera, she decided to create a new persona as a man, in order to sleep with women. She had been collecting money from women she slept with in order to refurbish an old castle. The brothers are also women and friends that Carmilla turned to vampires. She got the idea from Viera, who suggested many parts of the story, including the grandmother portrait which was actually a portrait of Carmilla from when she was still a human back in the 1770's.

Vincents asks if this Viera is the Viera he knew before, Carmilla confirms it. Viera is now an eccentric novelist living in new orleans and works in a magick shop and has many fans and friends who live in new orleans. This explains her accent, it is because shes not french, but rather, an american from the french quarter.

Vincent and Augustine make an agreement that she is never to hunt for victims in england again, because he is the queens watchdog. In return, Rachel is free to visit Augustine any time she pleases and Vincent is not to interfere with their relationship.

Rachel reveals on the way home that she only wanted a sexual thing with Augustine and probably don't be calling her back, that she was 'too romantic' for her liking.

**Demon of the Crimson Rose Arc**  
Sopor Aeturnus

Starts off in a monastery. The monks claim they are being targeted by a hate group that is vandalizing the monastery that escalated into a murder. Vincent is called in to the investigation.

One of the monks leads Vincent and Diederich on a tour of the monstery, and shows them the library, where many old books had been torn apart.

The monks pick up on the connection between Diederich and Vincent. They take Vincent to am emoty closet and lock him in the closet.

The closet fills with black water. Vincent starts screaming. Vincent passes out in the water. He wakes up on that similar beach with the black water. There he sees a different version of himself (older Ciel). He sees a demon trailing behind Ciel and calls out to save his son but he is drawn back into the ocean.

Diederich pries open the closet, black water spills out of the closet, and Vincent wakes up, completely drenched. They investigate the closet but it is just a normal closet and there is no explanation for how so much water got in there.

Vincent storms out of the monastery despite the monks protesting him that he stay and be purified of the evil he had attracted. He refuses to help them on the case because of how they treated him. He'd rather take the flack from Victoria then go back there.

Vincent continues to have nightmares about beach. He is dragged down into the water by strands of white hair.

Vincent meets Baron Kelvin at a party with Ciel. they talk about his philanthropy work and Vincent is moved by his goal and says that he'd love to donate and possibly adopt one of the children.

He starts to feel sick at a party, Klaus asks him if he is alright but he says he is fine.

Later on, Vincent visists the orphanage and sits down with Joker and Beast. He is moved by the children living there, especially Doll who he thinks is adorable. He talks with Baron Kelvin about adopting her possibly. He says that he's always felt like an outcast his entire life and he wants a child who can understand him, unlike Ciel, who is a normal child. Kelvin doesn't understand but is more than willing to let Doll become a Phantomhive.

Vincent becomes ill more and more often. He coughs up black sea water at night after nightmares and wakes up in a cold sweat, with black sand inside of his bed.

Diederich writes entries in Vincents journals for him, documenting what happens to Vincent.

Vincent had disappeared, Diederich tracked him down to a rundown cottage in the middle fo nowhere by the sea, near some cliffs. Vincent had been missing for about a month. When he finds Vincent, Vincent is completely delusional and does not recognize him. Vincent has not eaten or bathed in what looked like ages. Diederich cooks for him and cleans him up and gives vincent a shave. Vincent throws up into the old bath tub what appears to be black water but is actually a bunch of tadpoles.

Vincent tries to explain that the demon of the crimson rose has claimed him and he's bexome her vessel. Diederich doesn't understand. Vincent into a comatose state where he does nothing but cough up black sea water, white hairs, and tadpoles.

Vincent is back on the beach. He apparoached by a female demon with white hair and deep tan skin. Her blue eyes are cold as ice and flash fuschia. She repeats to him that he is nothing more han a vessel for her profane children. Vincent pulls purple hairs out from his mouth. He coughs up black tar while she watches. Vincent looks up at her defiantly, determined ot survive whatever is happening to him.

Vincent had been writing the recollection of his dream on the walls with his own cut up hands. He bit his finger nails to the quick and it used it to write. Diederich writes it down.

Diederich finds him choking and pulls a bat out of his thoat. The bat flies away. (This is the birth of the demon of the crimson rose aka hannah but never mention directly that it is hannah)

Vincent lapses into a coma where he does not wake for a week. Diederich tries to take care of him but Vincent constantly has a fever and won't wake up. Diederich know he can't take Vincent to a hospital because theyll put him into an asylum so he calls over a private doctor who urges Diederich to take him to a hospital, Diederich refuses.

Vincent wakes with a start and starts throwing up purple hairs. Diederich watches as he throws up three smaller bats and black tar. The bats absorb the black tar, eat the tadpoles and fly away out the broken window. (these are the three underlings) Vincent instantly comes to his senses.

Vincent returns to his normal life jsut before his son's tenth birthday.

Final entry is 1st person, Vincent talking about how proud he is of his son and that he invited Diederich and that would be the day he told Ciel about his relationship with 'uncle dee', as well as preparing him to go to weston the next year.

Ciel closes the journal and looks through the photos. He has Sebastian package everything and sends it along with a letter inviting Diederich to his and Lizzie's wedding and thanking him for being his fathers lover.


	62. Immortal

_I wanna mean something to somebody else_   
_Feel a significance in the real world_   
_It's not enough to live out a lucky life_

_No I don't wanna be afraid to die,_   
_I just wanna be able to say_   
_That I have lived my life_   
_Oh, all the things that humans do_   
_To leave behind a little proof_   
_But the only thing that doesn't die is love_

_I'm forever chasing after time_   
_But everybody dies, dies_   
_If I could buy forever at a price_   
_I would buy it twice, twice_   
_But if the earth ends in fire_   
_And the seas are frozen in time_   
_There'll be just one survivor_   
_The memories of our lifetime._

_So keep me alive_

_"Immortal"- Marina and the Diamonds._

* * *

Ciel flipped through the pages of the red leather bound book. The musty smell of the yellowed pages filled his office. They smelled musty, the ink was too smudged, too illegible to be read further. The black ink faded into shades of green mildew. The last three journals were beyond repair, not even Sebastian could have deciphered them. The damp basement must have a leak or flood of some type during the many years that the journal lay in wait, hidden beneath the manor for someone to find them. They were still damp, it was unsure if they would be dried out. It was beyond hope that Ciel would ever know what was in them- much less know the secrets that could have lead him to the mystery behind the murder of his parents and his kidnapping.

"What will you do now, Master?" Sebastian asked him. Ciel took in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of molding ink and paper.

He had been on an adventure from the first time he flipped through the first page of hastily scrawled scripture written by his dead father. He could feel his fathers soul through the pages, he read the books and was transported to another time, sometimes other places. He met people who were long dead, or fell off the map entirely. He had this longing, nostalgic feeling for a time period in which he had never witnessed first hand. He had felt his father so intimately, it felt like he could have still been alive, still in the room with him. Sitting next to him, telling him lurid stories no father should tell his son. Yet he wasn't there, he was in a coffin beneath the ground. The only way Vincent still lived was through the countless photographs that he had taken of himself and Diederich. Some photos even dated back to his teenage years, a picture of Frances tatting lace out in the garden, still at the tender age of sixteen.

In that moment Ciel did something that he never thought he would he do. He cried. He cried for the lives lost. He cried for the chance for his father to tell him things that he never could. He cried because he hadn't known a damn thing about his father when he was alive, had taken him for granted, and thought he'd always be there. Yet, he wasn't. He was just words and photographs and pictures in Ciel's mind. He wasn't here, he would never be here for Ciel. Ciel had some longing to be able to say anything to him, anything at all. Just for the chance to his father how much he loved him. How much he missed him. Ciel collected himself and ignored the tears that fell onto the photographs. He picked up one photo of Diederich and Vincent presumably, on vacation somewhere. They had their arms wrapped on the others shoulders and were smiling brightly against the empty ocean behind them. Where they were, Ciel was not sure and he felt like he would never know.

"Frame this one, Sebastian," Ciel said, handing him the photograph. Ciel would put it up somewhere in the manor, he wasn't sure where.

"Yes, my lord."

"There's only one thing left to do," Ciel told Sebastian. He got out his phone book and began dialing a number.

"This is Earl Phantomhive, I'd like to speak with the Baron Von Wolf," Ciel said. It felt strange referring to Diederich in such impersonal tones when Ciel knew his darkest, most intimate, secret.

"What is it Phantomhive?" Diederich asked over the phone. His german accent was terse, always making him sound more strict than he really was. The way Vincent wrote about him.

"I found my father's journals, and-"

"Burn them," Diederich said abruptly. Ciel knew he was covering for something and he knew exactly what it was. Ciel glanced at a photo of them making out in the Phantomhive's rose garden.

"I thought you would like them since you two were lovers."

"I've never had any lovers."

"He wrote about your relationship in excruciating detail," Ciel informed him.

"Of course Vincent would do such a thing. I suppose you could send them here," Diederich conceded, because a part of him really wanted to keep some of those photos. If only to keep them away from the prying eyes of the young Earl. If only to reminiscence of his younger days.

"Does it offend you?" Diederich asked Ciel.

"No, I'm grateful that someone loved Vincent, as earnestly as you did," Ciel told him.

"Someone had to," Diederich told him, as if loving Vincent was some kind of duty he was assigned to undertaker from the hand of fate. Maybe it was fate that brought them together.

Somewhere in Germany, Diederich was sitting in his office. The fire was going strong and it was cold and snowing outside. There was a knock on the door of his office and his butler silently took a large crate and placed it on the floor, in front of his desk. Diederich walked over to the crate and opened with bare hands. Inside of it was a box, in which all the journals and photographs were kept. Diederich bent over, a task that got harder as he aged, and lifted the heavy box onto his desk. He went through the box, looking at the photos, some of them quite lascivious, mostly of himself and of Vincent. He was a little bit shocked to know that Ciel, of all the people had looked through these. And even organized him, or perhaps not, the organized envelopes the pictures were kept in were labeled with the butler's handwriting. As Diederich pulled out one of the red journals, a scarred hand reached out and grabbed it from him.

"Hey, I was going to read that!"

"Well, they're my journals!" Vincent said to him with a scowl. He was sitting next to Diederich's desk in his padded wheelchair. The left side of him was badly scarred, but he wore makeup on his face, the scars peaking out on his neck, and the lack of his signature black leather gloves were the only indicator he had been in an accident. "It's been so long since I've seen these...perhaps even a decade," Vincent said. He had the book in his hand and flipped through the pages of his own handwriting. He had spent so much time writing them down, for seemingly no reason at the time, except to pass the time and cater to his own ego. Now he had knew that it had served some purpose. He laughed a little bit, what a way for Ciel for find out so many things Vincent didn't want him to know!

"Ciel apparently found them, and upon reading them, sent them to me," Diederich said.

"Ah, so that is what that phone call from him was about. Did he seem upset?" Vincent asked. He wanted to know how Ciel felt about the whole gay thing that he had discovered. In Vincent's defense, he was going to tell him, but then he got burnt badly, and then Diederich had to fake his death, and really, everything from there was such a mess and a humiliation that Vincent had never bothered to pick up the pieces of him that he left behind him. He just moved on, to a new life.

"It seemed like he didn't mind knowing about our little affair, and he's not the type to lie about his opinions. He enclosed a letter," Diederich said, handing Vincent the box, which contained the letter and everything else in it. Vincent set the items on his lap, his legs unable to feel the weight of the books pressing on his thighs.

"I'm shocked he found them," Vincent admitted. He had hidden them in that one place where nobody would go looking. He hid them in the one place that frightened him the very most, but perhaps, in some ways, his son was bolder than he could be. How vicious the young Earl Phantomhive could be, so of course his boy would be adventuring down in the basement. He had heard stories about Vincent had abandoned him at the age of ten and found it most regrettable.

"And to think we used to be such an attractive couple..." Vincent said, looking at the old photo. In this photo, they were young and on their honeymoon/time on the lam. They were french kissing somewhere in the south of France, the perfect time and location. Vincent smiled and looked at his lover with tender eyes. Diederich stared back at him with a curious expression, as if to ask, 'why are you looking at me like that?'.

"Well, that was a bore," Vincent said with a sigh. He pushed his wheelchair towards the fireplace and tossed the box, along with all of his journals and photos into it. They went into flames faster than the fine wool of his favorite suit on the night his wife was killed and he was left for dead.

"What the hell, Vincent?!" Diederich asked.

"These books should have died in the fire with the rest of me," Vincent said.

"Maybe I would have liked to keep some of those pictures, ever think of that?"

"Why bother reminiscing on the past when you're taking me out on a date tonight, hm?" Vincent asked Diederich, who looked at Vincent with a surprised expression. Even after all this time, there were things about Vincent that only Vincent would understand. Things that were beyond explanation.

"When did that happen?" Diederich asked.

"You know how I love to keep you guessing," Vincent told him. He was always a surprise.

"Yeah, keep me guessing as to why I'm even with you in the first place."

* * *

**Epilogue:**

It was summer in Paris, and Ciel and Elizabeth were on their honeymoon. Elizabeth was determined to find this store called, 'baby, the stars shine bright', and on their journey, they were going to get dragged into every little quaint little shop that Elizabeth felt matched her aesthetic, and no matter what she bought, or how much, Ciel would be carrying it. They were walking down a crowded street, when something caught Ciel's eye.

Across the street, in a little cafe, Ciel swore he could see Diederich and Vincent sitting in a little cafe. It was unmistakably Diederich, there was enough of him to see across the street. He was eating a sandwich and across the table from him was man with gray blue hair just like Ciel's and warm brown eyes and that signature mole under his eye. Vincent winked at him, and in an instant, Elizabeth dragged Ciel into a little shop, leaving him wondering whether or not what he just saw was truly real or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was pretty hard to resist telling my friends who were like, "PLEASE DON'T KILL VINCENT!" that I was totally not going to kill Vincent, but I wanted to surprise you. Please tell me you think of the ending! This is the last chapter and your chance to review! So please write me this final time, as a parting gift. I would be so grateful, as I always am for your words and your thoughts.
> 
> Thank you for following "Crossing Lines" for the time that it was posted. I kinda cried while writing this because I've had such a fun time creating this fanfic for you all and it's really being an end of an era for me. I feel this kind of emptiness inside of me now that everything has been finished. It's kind of like a break up, isn't it? I love you all very much and I hope you'll follow me further past my fanfiction writing career into something even more amazing. Please follow my original writing tumblr (vimerveilles) for more writing!


End file.
